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IRVING'S WORKS 

GEOFFREY ORAYO]^ EDITION 

COMPLETE m 27 VOLUMES. 
VOL. III. 



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BRAOEBRIDGE HALL 



GEOFFREY CBAYON EDITION 




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GEOFFREY CRAYON EDITION 



BRACBBRIDGE HALL 



OR 



THE HUMORISTS 



A MEDLEY 



BY 

GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 

) 

C ■'' 7 ^ ■ 

"Under this cloud I walk, Gentlemen ; pardon my rude assault. I am a traveller, -who, having 
surveyed most of the terrestrial angles of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this little spot." 

— Cheistmas Oedinabt. 



THE A UTHOB'8 REVISED EDITION 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME 



NEW YOEK 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

183 Fifth Avenue 



S^'^ 






COPTKIGHT 

1880 
By G. p. PUTNAM'S SONS 



COE"TE]SrTS. 



PAGE 

The Author 9 

The Hall 17 

The Busy Man 22 

Family Servants 29 

The Widow 38 

The Lovers 43 

Family Relics 48 

An Old Soldier 55 

The Widow's Retinue 60 

Ready-Money Jack 65 

Bachelors. , 73 

Wives 78 

Story-Telling , 86 

The Stout Gentleman , 88 

Forest Trees 103 

A Literary Antiquary Ill 

The Farm-House 118 

Horsemanship 124 

Love Symptoms 130 

Falconry 134 

Hawking 140 

St. Mark's Eve 149 

Gentility 161 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Fortune-Telling 167 

Love-Charms 174 

The Library 180 

The Student of Salamanca 183 

English Country Gentlemen 284 

A Bachelor's Confession 294 

English Gravity 299 

Gypsies 307 

May-Day Customs 814 

Village Worthies 320 

The Schoolmaster 324 

The School 331 

A Village Politician 336 

The Rookery 342 

May-Day 352 

The Manuscript 365 

Annette Delarbre 368 

Travelling 399 

Popular Superstitions . ; 408 

The Culprit 420 

Family Misfortunes 430 

Lovers' Troubles '. 435 

The Historian 442 

The Haunted House 445 

DoLPH Heyliger 450 

The Storm-Ship 504 

The Wedding 542 

The Author's Farewell 554 



List of Illusteatioe's. 



PAGE 



English Country Gentleman Front 

DoLPH Heyliger Title 

The Lovers 44 

Keady-Money Jack 72 

Stable Yard on a Rainy Day 88 

Gypsy Encampment , 168 

Traveller and Goblin 413 

DoLPH Heyliger and The Doctor 478 



THE AUTHOE. 

OKTHY KEADEE :— On again taking pen in 
hand, I would fain make a few observations at 
the outset, by way of bespeaking a right under- 
standing. The volumes which I have already published 
have met with a reception far beyond my most sanguine 
expectations. I would willingly attribute this to their 
intrinsic merits ; but, in spite of the vanity of authorship, 
I cannot but be sensible that their success has, in a great 
measure, been owing to a less flattering cause. It has 
been a matter of marvel, to my European readers, that a 
man from the wilds of America should express himself in 
tolerable English. I was looked upon as something new 
and strange in literature ; a kind of demi-savage, with a 
feather in his hand instead of on his head ; and there 
was a curiosity to hear what such a being had to say 
about civilized society. 

This novelty is now at an end, and of course the feeling 
of indulgence which it produced. I must now expect to 
bear the scrutiny of sterner criticisms, and to be meas- 
ured by the same standard as contemporary writers ; and 
the very favor shown to my previous writings will cause 
these to be treated with the greatest rigor, as there is 



10 THE AUTHOR. 

notliing for wliicli tlie world is apt to punisli a man more 
severely tlian for having been over-praised. On tMs 
head, therefore, I wish to forestall the censoriousness of 
the reader, and I entreat he will not think the worse of 
me for the many injudicious things that may have been 
said in my commendation. 

I am aware that I often travel over beaten ground, and 
treat of subjects that have already been discussed by 
abler pens. Indeed, various authors have been men- 
tioned as my models, to whom I should feel flattered if I 
thought I bore the slightest resemblance ; but in truth I 
write after no model that I am conscious of, and I write 
with no idea of imitation or competition. In venturing 
occasionally on topics that have already been almost ex- 
hausted by English authors, I do it, not with the pre- 
sumption of challenging a comparison, but with the hope 
that some new interest may be given to such topics, when 
discussed by the pen of a stranger. 

If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwelling 
with fondness on subjects trite and commonplace with 
the reader, I beg the circumstances under which I write 
may be kept in recollection. Having been born and 
brought up in a new country, yet educated from infancy 
in the literature of an old one, my mind was early filled 
with historical and poetical associations, connected with 
places, and manners, and customs of Europe, but which 
could rarely be applied to those of my own country. To 
a mind thus peculiarly prepared, the most ordinary ob- 



THE A UTEOB. 11 

jects and scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full of strange 
matter and interesting novelty. England is as classic 
ground to an American, as Italy is to an Englishman ; 
and old London teems with as much historical association 
as mighty Rome. 

Indeed, it is difficult to describe the whimsical medley 
of ideas that throng upon his mind on landing among 
English scenes. He for the first time sees a world about 
which he has been reading and thinking in every stage of 
his existence. The recollected ideas of infancy, youth, 
and manhood, of the nursery, the school, and the study, 
come swarming at once upon him ; and his attention is 
distracted between great and little objects, each of which, 
perhaps, awakens an equally delightful train of remem- 
brances. 

But what more especially attracts his notice, are those 
peculiarities which distinguish an old country and an old 
state of society from a new one. I have never yet grown 
familiar enough with the crumbling monuments of past 
ages, to blunt the intense interest with which I at first be- 
held them. Accustomed always to scenes where history 
was, in a manner, anticipation ; where everything in art 
was new and progressive, and pointed to the future rather 
than to the past ; where, in short, the works of man gave 
no ideas but those of young existence and prospective 
improvement ; there was something inexpressibly touch- 
ing in the sight of enormous piles of architecture, gray 
with antiquity, and sinking to decay. I cannot describe 



12 TEE AUTHOR. 

the mute but deep-felt enthusiasm with, •which I have 
contemplated a vast monastic ruin, like Tintern Abbey, 
buried in the bosom of a quiet valley, and shut up from 
the world, as though it had existed merely for itself ; or 
a warrior pile, like Conway Castle, standing in stern 
loneliness on its rocky height, a mere hollow yet threat- 
ening phantom of departed power. They spread a grand, 
and melancholy, and, to me, an unusual charm over the 
landscape ; I for the first time beheld signs of national old 
age, and empire's decay, and proofs of the transient and 
perishing glories of art, amidst the ever-springing and re- 
viving fertility of nature. 

But, in fact, to me everything was full of matter, the 
footsteps of history were everywhere to be traced, and 
poetry had breathed over and sanctified the land. I ex- 
perienced the delightful freshness of feeling of a child to 
whom everything is new. I pictured to myself a set of 
inhabitants and a mode of life for every habitation that I 
saw, from the aristocratical mansion, amidst the lordly 
repose of stately groves and solitary parks, to the straw- 
thatched cottage, with its scanty garden and its cherished 
woodbine. I thought I never could be sated with the 
sweetness and freshness of a country so completely car- 
peted with verdure ; where every air breathed of the 
balmy pasture, and the honeysuckle hedge. I was con- 
tinually coming upon some little document of poetry in 
the blossomed hawthorn, the daisy, the cowslip, the 
primrose, or some other simple object that has received 



THE AUTHOR. 13 

a supernatural value from the muse. The first time tliat 
I heard the song of the nightingale, I was intoxicated 
more by the delicious crowd of remembered associations 
than by the melody of its notes ; and I shall never forget 
the thrill of ecstasy with which I first saw the lark rise, 
almost from beneath my feet, and wing its musical flight 
up into the morning sky. 

In this way I traversed England, a grown-up child, 
delighted by every object, great and small ; and betray- 
ing a wondering ignorance, and simple enjoyment, that 
provoked many a stare and a smile from my wiser 
and more experienced fellow-travellers. Such too was 
the odd confusion of associations that kept breaking 
upon me as I first approached London. One of my earli- 
est wishes had been to see this great metropolis. I had 
read so much about it in the earliest books put into my 
infant hands ; and I had heard so much about it from 
those around me who had come from the " old countries," 
that I was familiar with the names of its streets and 
squares, and public places, before I knew those of my 
native city. It was, to me, the great centre of the world, 
round which everything seemed to revolve. I recollect 
contemplating so wistfully, when a boy, a paltry little 
print of the Thames, and London Bridge, and St. Paul's, 
that was in front of an old magazine ; and a picture of 
Kensington Gardens, with gentlemen in three-cornered 
hats and broad skirts, and ladies in hoops and lappets, 
that hung up in my bedroom ; even the venerable cut of 



14 THE AUTHOE. 

St. Jolin's Gate, tliat has stood, time out of mind, in front 
of the Gentleman's Magazine, was not without its charms 
to me ; and I envied the odd-looking little men that ap- 
peared to be loitering about its arches. 

How then did my heart warm when the towers of 
"Westminster Abbey were pointed out to me, rising above 
the rich groves of St. James's Park, with a thin blue haze 
above their gray pinnacles ! I could not behold this 
great mausoleum of what is most illustrious in our pa- 
ternal history, without feeling my enthusiasm in a glow. 
With what eagerness did I explore every part of the 
metropolis ! I was not content with those matters which 
occupy the dignified research of the learned traveller ; I 
delighted to call up all the feelings of childhood, and to 
seek after those objects which had been the wonders of 
my infancy. London Bridge, so famous in nursery song ; 
the far-famed monument ; Gog and Magog, and the Lions 
in the Tower, — all brought back many a recollection of 
infantine delight, and of good old beings, now no more, 
who had gossiped about them to my wondering ear. Nor 
was it without a recurrence of childish interest that I 
first peeped into Mr. Newberry's shop, in St. Paul's 
Church-yard, that fountain-head of literature. Mr. New- 
berry was the first that ever filled my infant mind with 
the idea of a great and good man. He published all the 
picture-books of the day ; and, out of his abundant love 
for children, he charged "nothing for either paper or 
print, and only a penny-half-penny for the binding ! " 



THE AUTEOB. 15 

I have mentioned these circumstances, worthy reader, 
to show you the whimsical crowd of associations that are 
apt to beset my mind on mingling among English scenes. 
I hope they may, in some measure, plead my apology, 
should I be found harping upon stale and trivial themes, 
or indulging an over-fondness for anything antique and 
obsolete. I know it is the humor, not to say cant of the 
day, to run riot about old times, old books, old customs, 
and old buildings ; with myself, however, as far as I have 
caught the contagion, the feeling is genuine. To a man 
from a young country, all old things are in a manner 
new; and he may surely be excused in being a little 
curious about antiquities, whose native land, unfortu- 
nately, cannot boast of a single ruin. 

Having been brought up, also, in the comparative sim- 
plicity of a republic, I am apt to be struck with even the 
ordinary circumstances incident to an aristocratical state 
of society. If, however, I should at any time amuse my- 
self by pointing out some of the eccentricities, and some 
of the poetical characteristics of the latter, I would not 
be understood as pretending to decide upon its political 
merits. My only aim is to paint characters and manners. 
I am no politician. The more I have considered the 
study of politics, the more I have found it full of per- 
plexity ; and I have contented myself, as I have in my 
religion, with the faith in which I was brought up, regu- 
lating my own conduct by its precepts, but leaving to 
abler heads the task of making converts. 



16 THE A UTHOB. 

I shall continue on, therefore, in tlie course I have 
hitherto pursued; looking at things poetically, rather 
than politically ; describing them as they are, rather than 
pretending to point out how they should be ; and endeav- 
oring to see the world in as pleasant a light as circum- 
stances will permit. 

I have always had an opinion that much good might be 
done by keeping mankind in good humor with one an- 
other. I may be wrong in my philosophy, but I shall 
continue to practise it until convinced of its fallacy. 
"When I discover the world to be all that it has been re- 
presented by sneering cynics and whining poets, I will 
turn to and abuse it also ; in the meanwhile, worthy 
reader, I hope you will not think lightly of me, because I 
cannot believe this to be so very bad a world as it is re- 
presented. 

Thine truly, 

GEOFFREY CRAYON. 



Beaoebeidge Hall. 



THE HALL. 

The ancientest house, and the best for housekeeping, in this county or the 
next ; and though the master of it write but squire, I know no lord like him. 
— Mekky Beggars. 




HE reader, if he has perused the volumes of the 
"Sketch-Book," will probably recollect some- 
thing of the Bracebridge family, with which I 
once passed a Christmas. I am now on another visit at 
the Hall, having been invited to a wedding which is 
shortly to take place. The Squire's second son, Guy, a 
fine, spirited young captain in the army, is about to be 
married to his father's ward, the fair Julia Templeton. 
A gathering of relations and friends has already com- 
menced, to celebrate the joyful occasion ; for the old gen- 
tleman is an enemy to quiet, private weddings. " There 
is nothing," he says, "like launching a young couple 
gayly, and cheering them from the shore ; a good out- 
set is half the voyage." 

2 17 



18 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Before proceeding any farther, I would beg tliat the 
Squire might not be confounded with that class of hard- 
riding, fox-hunting gentlemen, so often described, and, in 
fact, so nearly extinct in England. I use this rural title 
partly because it is his universal appellation throughout 
the neighborhood, and partly because it saves me the fre- 
quent repetition of his name, which is one of those rough 
old English names at which Frenchmen exclaim in 
despair. 

The Squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of the old 
English country gentleman ; rusticated a little by living 
almost entirely on his estate, and something of a humor- 
ist, as Englishmen are apt to become when they have an 
opportunity of living in their own way. I like his hobby 
passing well, however, which is, a bigoted devotion to old 
English manners and customs ; it jumps a little with my 
own humor, having as yet a lively and unsated curiosity 
about the ancient and genuine characteristics of my 
" father-land." 

There are some traits about the Squire's family, also, 
which appear to me to be national. It is one of those 
old aristocratical families which, I believe, are peculiar 
to England, and scarcely understood in other countries ; 
that is to say, families of the ancient gentry, who, though 
destitute of titled rank, maintain a high ancestral pride ; 
who look down upon all nobility of recent creation, and 
would consider it a sacrifice of dignity to merge the ven- 
erable name of their house in a modern title. 



TEE HALL. 19 

The feeling is very mucli fostered by the importance 
which they enjoy on their hereditary domains. The 
family mansion is an old manor-house, standing in a re- 
tired and beautiful part of Yorkshire. Its inhabitants 
have been always regarded, through the surrounding 
country, as "the great ones of the earth; " and the little 
village near the Hall looks up to the Squire with almost 
feudal homage. An old manor-house, and an old family 
of this kind, are rarely to be met with at the present day ; 
and it is probably the peculiar humor of the Squire 
that has retained this secluded specimen of Eng- 
lish house-keeping in something like the genuine old 
style. 

I am again quartered in the panelled chamber, in the 
antique wing of the house. The prospect from my win- 
dow, however, has quite a different aspect from that 
which it wore on my winter visit. Though early in the 
month of April, yet a few warm, sunshiny days have 
drawn forth the beauties of the spring, which, I think, are 
always most captivating on their first opening. The par- 
terres of the old-fashioned garden are gay with flowers ; 
and the gardener has brought out his exotics, and placed 
them along the stone balustrades. The trees are clothed 
with green buds and tender leaves. When I throw open 
^J jiiigliiig casement, I smell the odor of mignonette, 
and hear the hum of the bees from the flowers against 
the sunny wall, with the varied song of the throstle, and 
the cheerful notes of the tuneful little wren. 



20 BRACEBBIDGE HALL. 

"While sojourning in this stronghold of old fashions, it 
is my intention to make occasional sketches of the scenes 
and characters before me. I would have it understood, 
however, that I am not writing a novel, and have nothing 
of intricate plot nor marvellous adventure to promise the 
reader. The Hall of which I treat has, for aught I know, 
neither trap-door, nor sliding-panel, nor donjon-keep ; 
and indeed appears to have no mystery about it. The 
family is a worthy, well-meaning family, that, in all prob- 
ability, will eat and drink, and go to bed, and get up 
regularly, from one end of my work to the other ; and the 
Squire is so kind-hearted, that I see no likelihood of his 
throwing any kind of distress in the way of the approach- 
ing nuptials. In a word, I cannot foresee a single extra- 
ordinary event that is likely to occur in the whole term 
of my sojourn at the Hall. 

I tell this honestly to the reader, lest, when he finds 
me dallying along, through every-day English scenes, he 
may hurry ahead, in hopes of meeting with some marvel- 
lous adventure further on. I invite him, on the contrary, 
to ramble gently on with me, as he would saunter out 
into the fields, stopping occasionally to gather a flower, 
or listen to a bird, or admire a prospect, without any 
anxiety to arrive at the end of his career. Should I, how- 
ever, in the course of my wanderings about this old man- 
sion, see or hear anything curious, that might serve to 
vary the monotony of this every-day life, I shall not fail 
to report it for the reader's entertainment : 



THE HALL. 21 

For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie, 
Of any book, how grave soe'er it be, 
Except it have odd matter, strange and merrie. 
Well saue'd with lies, and glared all with glee.* 

* Mirror for Magistrates. 



^. 



THE BUSY MAN. 

A decayed gentleman, who lives most upon his own mirth and my master's 
means, and much good do him with it. He does hold my master up with his 
stories, and songs, and catches, and such tricks and jigs, you would admire — 
he is with him now. — Jovial Crew. 

Y no one lias my return to tlie Hall been more 
heartily greeted than by Mr. Simon Brace- 
bridge, or Master Simon, as the Squire most 
commonly calls him. I encountered him just as I en- 
tered the park, where he was breaking a pointer, and he 
received me with all the hospitable cordiality with which 
a man welcomes a friend to another one's house. I have 
already introduced him to the reader as a brisk old 
bachelor-looking little man ; the wit and superannuated 
beau of a large family connection, and the Squire's facto- 
tum. I found him, as usual, full of bustle ; with a thou- 
sand petty things to do, and persons to attend to, and in 
chirping good-humor ; for there are few happier beings 
than a busy idler, that is to say, a man who is eternally 
busy about nothing. 

I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in his 
chamber, which is in a remote corner of the mansion, as 
he says he likes to be to himself, and out of the way. He 

22 



TEE BUSY MAK 23 

has fitted it up in his own taste, so that it is a perfect 
epitome of an old bachelor's notions of convenience and 
arrangement. The furniture is made up of odd pieces 
from all parts of the house, chosen on account of their 
suiting his notions, or fitting some corner of his apart- 
ment; and he is very eloquent in praise of an ancient 
elbow-chair, from which he takes occasion to digress into 
a censure on modern chairs, as having degenerated from 
the dignity and comfort of high-backed antiquity. 

Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which he 
calls his study. Here are some hanging shelves, of his 
own construction, on which are several old works on 
hawking, hunting, and farriery, and a collection or two 
of poems and songs of the reign of Elizabeth, which he 
studies out of compliment to the Squire ; together with 
the Novelist's Magazine, the Sporting Magazine, the Eac- 
ing Calendar, a volume or two of the Newgate Calendar, 
a book of peerage, and another of heraldry. 

His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small closet ; 
and about the walls of his apartment are hooks to hold 
his fishing-tackle, whips, spurs, and a favorite fowling- 
piece, curiously wrought and inlaid, which he inherits 
from his grandfather. He has, also, a couple of old sin- 
gle-keyed flutes, and a fiddle which he has repeatedly 
patched and mended himself, affirming it to be a veritable 
Cremona ; though I have never heard him extract a sin- 
gle note from it that was not enough to make one's blood 
run cold. 



24 BRACEBBIDOE HALL. 

From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in 
the stillness of mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-for- 
gotten tune ; for he prides himself on having a choice 
collection of good old English music, and will scarcely 
have anything to do with modern composers. The time, 
however, at which his musical powers are of most use, is 
now and then of an evening, when he plays for the chil- 
dren to dance in the hall ; and he passes among them and 
the servants for a perfect Orpheus. 

His chamber also bears evidence of his various avoca- 
tions : there are half-copied sheets of music ; designs for 
needle-work; sketches of landscapes, very indifferently 
executed; a camera lucida; a magic lantern, for which 
he is endeavoring to paint glasses ; in a word, it is the 
cabinet of a man of many accomplishments, who knows a 
little of everything, and does nothing well. 

After I had spent some time in his apartment, admir- 
ing the ingenuity of his small inventions, he took me 
about the establishment, to visit the stables, dog-kennel, 
and other dependencies, in which he appeared like a gen- 
eral visiting the different quarters of his camp ; as the 
Squire leaves the control of all these matters to him, 
when he is at the Hall, He inquired into the state of 
the horses ; examined their feet ; prescribed a drench for 
one, and bleeding for another ; and then took me to look 
at his own horse, on the merits of which he dwelt with 
great prolixity, and which, I noticed, had the best stall 
in the stable. 



THE BUSY MAN. 25 

After this I was taken to a new toy of his and the 
Squire's, which he termed the falconry, where there were 
several unhappy birds in durance, completing their edu- 
cation. Among the number was a fine falcon, which 
Master Simon had in especial training, and he told me 
that he would show me, in a few days, some rare sport of 
the good old-fashioned kind. In the course of our round, 
I noticed that the grooms, gamekeeper, whippers-in, and 
other retainers, seemed all to be on somewhat of a fami- 
liar footing with Master Simon, and fond of having a joke 
with him, though it was evident they had great deference 
for his opinion in matters relating to their functions. 

There was one exception, however, in a testy old 
huntsman, as hot as a pepper-corn ; a meagre, wiry old 
fellow, in a threadbare velvet jockey-cap, and a pair of 
leather breeches, that, from much wear, shone as though 
they had been japanned. He was very contradictory and 
pragmatical, and apt, as I thought, to differ from Master 
Simon now and then, out of mere captiousness. This 
was particularly the case with respect to the treatment of 
the hawk, which the old man seemed to have under his 
peculiar care, and, according to Master Simon, was in a 
fair way to ruin : the latter had a vast deal to say about 
casting, and imping, and gleaming, and enseaming, and giv- 
ing the hawk the rangle, which I saw was all heathen 
Greek to old Christy ; but he maintained his point not- 
withstanding, and seemed to hold all this technical lore 
in utter disrespect. 



26 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

I was surprised at the good-humor with which Master 
Simon bore his contradictions, till he explained the mat- 
ter to me afterwards. Old Christy is the most ancient 
servant in the place, having lived among dogs and horses 
the greater part of a century, and been in the service of 
Mr. Bracebridge's father. He knows the pedigree of 
every horse on the place, and has bestrode the great- 
great-grandsires of most of them. He can give a cir- 
cumstantial detail of every fox-hunt for the last sixty or 
seventy years, and has a history for every stag's head 
about the house, and every hunting-trophy nailed to the 
door of the dog kennel. 

All the present race have grown up under his eye, and 
humor him in his old age. He once attended the Squire 
to Oxford, when he was student there, and enlightened 
the whole university with his hunting-lore. All this is 
enough to make the old man opinionated, since he finds, 
on all these matters of first-rate importance, he knows 
more than the rest of the world. Indeed, Master Simon 
had been his pupil, and acknowledges that he derived 
his first knowledge in hunting from the instructions of 
Christy ; and I much question whether the old man does 
not still look upon him as rather a greenhorn. 

On our return homewards, as we were crossing the 
lawn in front of the house, we heard the porter's bell 
ring at the lodge, and shortly afterwards a kind of caval- 
cade advanced slowly up the avenue. At sight of it my 
companion paused, considered it for a moment, and then, 



THE BUSY MAN. 27 

making a sudden exclamation, hurried away to meet it. 
As it approached I discovered a fair, fresh-looking elder- 
ly lady, dressed in an old-fashioned riding-habit, with a 
broad-brimmed white beaver hat, such as may be seen in 
Sir Joshua Reynolds's paintings. She rode a sleek white 
pony, and was followed by a footman in rich livery, 
mounted on an over-fed hunter. At a little distance in 
the rear came an ancient cumbrous chariot drawn by two 
very corpulent horses, driven by as corpulent a coach- 
man, beside whom sat a page dressed in a fanciful green 
livery. Inside of the chariot was a starched prim per- 
sonage, with a look somewhat between a lady's compan- 
ion and a lady's maid, and two pampered curs, that 
showed their ugly faces, and barked out of each window. 

There was a general turning out of the garrison to re- 
ceive this new-comer. The Squire assisted her to alight, 
and saluted her affectionately ; the fair Julia flew into her 
arms, and they embraced with the romantic fervor of 
boarding-school friends : she was escorted into the house 
by Julia's lover, towards whom she showed distinguished 
favor ; and a line of the old servants, who had collected 
in the Hall, bowed most profoundly as she passed. 

I observed that Master Simon was most assiduous and 
devout in his attentions upon this old lady. He walked 
by the side of her pony up the avenue ; and, while she 
was receiving the salutations of the rest of the family, he 
took occasion to notice the fat coachman; to pat the 
sleek carriage-horses, and, above all, to say a civil word 



28 BBACEBRIDQE HALL. 

to my lady's gentlewoman, tlie prim, sour-looking vestal 
in the chariot. 

I had no more of his company for the rest of the morn- 
ing. He was swept off in the vortex that followed in the 
wake of this lady. Once indeed he paused for a moment, 
as he was hurrying on some errand of the good lady's, to 
let me know that this was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of the 
Squire's, of large fortune, which the captain would in- 
herit, and that her estate lay in one of the best sporting 
counties in all England. 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 

Verily old servants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping. They are 
like rats in a mansion, or mites in a cheese, bespeaking the antiquity and 
fatness of their abode. 




N my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often 
be tempted to dwell upon circumstances of a 
trite and ordinary nature, from their appearing 
to me illustrative of genuine national character. It 
seems to me to be the study of the Squire to adhere, as 
much as possible, to what he considers the old land- 
marks of English manners. His servants all understand 
his ways, and for the most part have been accustomed to 
them from infancy ; so that, upon the whole, his house- 
hold presents one of the few tolerable specimens that 
can now be met with, of the establishment of an English 
country gentleman of the old school. 

By the by, the servants are not the least characteristic 
part of the household : the housekeeper, for instance, has 
been born and brought up at the Hall, and has never 
been twenty miles from it ; yet she has a stately air that 
would not disgrace a lady that had figured at the court of 
Queen Elizabeth. 

I am half inclined to think she has caught it from liv- 

29 



30 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

ing so mucli among the old family pictures. It may, 
however, be owing to a consciousness of her importance 
in the sphere in which she has always moved ; for she is 
greatly respected in the neighboring village, and among 
the farmers' wives, and has high authority in the house- 
hold, ruling over the servants with quiet but undisputed 
sway. 

She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and pointed nose 
and chin. Her dress is always the same as to fashion. 
She wears a small, well-starched ruff, a laced stomacher, 
full petticoats, and a gown festooned and open in front, 
which, on particular occasions, is of ancient silk, the 
legacy of some former dame of the family, or an inheri- 
tance from her mother, who was housekeeper before her. 
I have a reverence for these old garments, as I make no 
doubt they have figured about these apartments in days 
long past, when they have set off the charms of some 
peerless family beauty; and I have sometimes looked 
from the old housekeeper to the neighboring portraits, to 
see whether I could not recognize her antiquated brocade 
in the dress of some one of those long-waisted dames that 
smile on me from the walls. 

Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in front, 
and she wears over it a small cap, nicely plaited, and 
brought down under the chin. Her manners are simple 
and primitive, heightened a little by a proper dignity of 
station. 

The Hall is her world, and the history of the family 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 3I 

the only history she knows, excepting that which she has 
read in the Bible. She can give a biography of every 
portrait in the picture gallery, and is a complete family 
chronicle. 

She is treated with great consideration by the Squire. 
Indeed, Master Simon tells me that there is a traditional 
anecdote current among the servants, of the Squire's hav- 
ing been seen kissing her in the picture gallery, when 
they were both young. As, however, nothing further was 
ever noticed between them, the circumstance caused no 
great scandal ; only she was observed to take to reading 
Pamela shortly afterwards, and refused the hand of the 
village innkeeper, whom she had previously smiled on. 

The old butler, who was formerly footman, and a re- 
jected admirer of hers, used to tell the anecdote now and 
then, at those little cabals which will occasionally take 
place among the most orderly servants, arising from the 
common propensity of the governed to talk against ad- 
ministration ; but he has left it off, of late years, since he 
has risen into place, and shakes his head rebukingly 
when it is mentioned. 

It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell 
upon the looks of the Squire when he was a young man 
at college ; and she maintains that none of his sons can 
compare with their father when he was of their age, and 
was dressed out in his full suit of scarlet, with his hair 
craped and powdered, and his three-cornered hat. 

She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted bag- 



32 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

gage, named Phoebe Wilkins, who has been transplanted 
to the Hall Avithin a year or two, and been nearly spoiled 
for any condition of life. She is a kind of attendant and 
companion of the fair Julia's ; and from loitering about 
the young lady's apartments, reading scraps of novels, 
and inheriting second-hand finery, has become something 
between a waiting-maid and a slipshod fine lady. 

She is considered a kind of heiress among the servants, 
as she will inherit all her aunt's property ; which, if re- 
port be true, must be a round sum of good golden 
guineas, the accumulated wealth of two housekeepers' 
savings ; not to mention the hereditary wardrobe, and the 
many little valuables and knick-knacks treasured up in 
the housekeeper's room. Indeed, the old housekeeper 
has the reputation among the servants and the villagers 
of being passing rich ; and there is a japanned chest of 
drawers and a large iron-bound coffer in her room, which 
are supposed, by the housemaids, to hold treasures of 
wealth. 

The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, who, 
indeed, pays a little court to her, as to a person high in 
authority ; and they have many discussions on points of 
family history, in which, notwithstanding his extensive 
information and pride of knowledge, he commonly admits 
her superior accuracy. He seldom returns to the Hall, 
after one of his visits to the other branches of the family, 
without bringing Mrs. Wilkins some remembrance from 
the ladies of the house where he has been staying. 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 33 

Indeed, all the children of the house look up to the old 
lady with habitual respect and attachment, and she seems 
almost to consider them as her own, from their having 
grown up under her eye. The Oxonian, however, is her 
favorite, probably from being the youngest, though he is 
the most mischievous, and has been apt to play tricks 
upon her from boyhood. 

I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony, which, I 
believe, is peculiar to the Hall. After the cloth is re- 
moved at dinner, the old housekeeper sails into the room, 
and stands behind the Squire's chair, when he fills her a 
glass of wine with his own hands, in which she drinks the 
health of the company in a truly respectful yet dignified 
manner, and then retires. The Squire received the cus- 
tom from his father, and has always continued it. 

There is a peculiar character about the servants of old 
English families, that reside principally in the country. 
They have a quiet, orderly, respectful mode of doing 
their duties. They are always neat in their persons, and 
appropriately, and, if I may use the phrase, technically 
dressed ; they move about the house without hurry or 
noise ; there is nothing of the bustle of employment, or 
the voice of command ; nothing of that obtrusive house- 
wifery which amounts to a torment. You are not perse- 
cuted by the process of making you comfortable; yet 
everything is done, and is done well. The work of the 
house is performed as if by magic, but it is the magic of 
system. Nothing is done by fits and starts, nor at awk- 
3 



34 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

ward seasons ; tlie whole goes on like well-oiled clock- 
work, where there is no noise nor jarring in its opera- 
tions. 

English servants, in general, are not treated with great 
indulgence, nor rewarded by many commendations ; for 
the English are laconic and reserved towards their do- 
mestics ; but an approving nod and a kind word from mas- 
ter or mistress goes as far here as an excess of praise or 
indulgence elsewhere. Neither do servants often exhibit 
any animated marks of affection to their employers ; yet, 
though quiet, they are strong in their attachments ; and 
the reciprocal regard of masters and servants, though not 
ardently expressed, is powerful and lasting in old Eng- 
lish families. 

The title of " an old family servant " carries with it a 
thousand kind associations, in all parts of the world ; and 
there is no claim upon the home-bred charities of the 
heart more irresistible than that of having been " born in 
the house." It is common to see gray-headed domestics 
of this kind attached to an English family of the "old 
school," who continue in it to the day of their death, in 
the enjoyment of steady, unaffected kindness, and the 
performance of faithful, unofficious duty. I think such 
instances of attachment speak well for both master and 
servant, and the frequency of them speaks well for na- 
tional character. 

These observations, however, hold good only with 
families of the description I have mentioned, and with 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 35 

such as are somewhat retired, and pass the greater part 
of their time in the country. As to the powdered meni- 
als that throng the halls of fashionable town residences, 
they equally reflect the character of the establishments 
to which they belong ; and I know no more complete epi- 
tome of dissolute heartlessness, and pampered inutility. 

But the good " old family servant,"— the one who has 
always been linked, in idea, with the home of our heart ; 
who has led us to school in the days of prattling child- 
hood ; who has been the confidant of our boyish cares, 
and schemes, and enterprises ; who has hailed us as we 
came home at vacations, and been the promoter of all our 
holiday sports; who, when we, in wandering manhood, 
have left the paternal roof, and only return thither at in- 
tervals, will welcome us with a joy inferior only to that 
of our parents ; who, now grown gray and infirm with age, 
still totters about the house of our fathers, in fond and 
faithful servitude ; who claims us, in a manner, as his 
own ; and hastens with querulous eagerness to anticipate 
his fellow-domestics in waiting upon us at table ; and 
who, when we retire at night to the chamber that still 
goes by our name, will linger about the room to have one 
more kind look, and one more pleasant word about times 
that are past, — who does not experience towards such a 
being a feeling of almost filial affection ? 

I have met with several instances of epitaphs on the 
grave-stones of such valuable domestics, recorded with 
the simple truth of natural feeling. I have two before 



36 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

me at this moment ; one copied from a tombstone of a 
dmrch in Warwickshire : 

" Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential ser- 
vant to George Birch, Esq., of Hamstead Hall. His 
grateful friend and master caused this inscription to be 
written in memory of his discretion, fidelity, diligence, 
and continence. He died (a bachelor) aged 84, having 
lived 44 years in the same family." 

The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham 
church-yard : 

"Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy, who de- 
parted this life on the 8th of September, 1818, aged 84, 
after a faithful service of 60 years in one family ; by each 
individual of which he lived respected, and died lamented 
by the sole survivor." 

Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have given me 
the glow about the heart that I felt while copying this 
honest epitaph in the church-yard of Eltham. I sym- 
pathized with this " sole survivor " of a family mourning 
over the grave of the faithful follower of his race, who 
had been, no doubt, a living memento of times and 
friends that had passed away; and in considering this 
record of long and devoted service, I call to mind the 
touching speech of Old Adam, in "As You Like It," 
when tottering after the youthful son of his ancient 
master : 

" Master, go on, and I will follow thee 
To the last gasp, with love and loyalty." 



FAMILY SERVANTS. 37 

Note. — I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen somewhere 
in the chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the late king to the memory 
of a family servant, who had been a faithful attendant of his lamented 
daughter, the Princess Amelia, George III. possessed much of the 
strong, domestic feeling of the old English country gentleman ; and it is 
an incident curious in monumental history, and creditable to the human 
heart, a monarch erecting a monument in honor of the humble virtues of 
a menial. 




THE WIDOW. 

She was so charitable and pitious 
She would weep if that she saw a mous 
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled : 
Of small hounds had she, that she fed 
With rest flesh, milke, and wastel bread. 
But sore wept she if any of them were dead, 
Or if man smote them with a yard smart. 

Chaucer. 

OTWITHSTANDING the whimsical parade 
made by Lady Lillycraft on her arrival, she 
has none of the petty stateliness that I had 
imagined ; but, on the contrary, a degree of nature, and 
simple-heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles 
well with her old-fashioned manners and harmless osten- 
tation. She dresses in rich silks, with long waist ; she 
rouges considerably, and her hair, which is nearly white, 
is frizzed out, and put up with pins. Her face is pitted 
with the small-pox, but the delicacy of her features 
shows that she may once have been beautiful ; and she 
has a very fair and well-shaped hand and arm, of which, 
if I mistake not, the good lady is still a little vain. 

I have had the curiosity to gather a few particulars 
concerning her. She was a great belle in town between 

38 



THE WIDOW. 39 

thirty and forty years since, and reigned for two seasons 
witli all the insolence of beauty, refusing several excel- 
lent offers ; when, unfortunately, she was robbed of her 
charms and her lovers by an attack of the small-pox. She 
retired immediately into the country, where she some 
time after inherited an estate, and married a baronet, a 
former admirer, whose passion had suddenly revived; 
"having," as he said, "always loved her mind rather 
than her person." 

The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune above 
six months, and had scarcely grown very tired of her, 
when he broke his neck in a fox-chase, and left her free, 
rich, and disconsolate. She has remained on her estate 
in the country ever since, and has never shown any de- 
sire to return to town, and revisit the scene of her early 
triumphs and fatal malady. All her favorite recollec- 
tions, however, revert to that short period of her youth- 
ful beauty. She has no idea of town but as it was at that 
time ; and continually forgets that the place and people 
must have changed materially in the course of nearly 
half a century. She will often speak of the toasts of 
those days as if still reigning ; and, until very recently, 
used to talk with delight of the royal family, and the 
beauty of the young princes and princesses. She cannot 
be brought to think of the present king otherwise than 
as an elegant young man, rather wild, but who danced a 
minuet divinely ; and before he came to the crown, would 
often mention him as the " sweet young prince." 



40 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

She talks also of the walks in Kensington Garden, 
where the gentlemen appeared in gold-laced coats and 
cocked hats, and the ladies in hoops, and swept so 
proudly along the grassy avenues ; and she thinks the 
ladies let themselves sadly down in their dignity, when 
they gave up cushioned head-dresses, and high-heeled 
shoes. She has much to say too of the officers who were 
in the train of her admirers ; and speaks familiarly of 
many wild young blades, who are now, perhaps, hobbling 
about watering-places with crutches and gouty shoes. 

Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony 
discouraged her or not I cannot say ; but though her 
merits and her riches have attracted many suitors, she 
has never been tempted to venture again into the happy 
state. This is singular, too, for she seems of a most soft 
and susceptible heart ; is always talking of love and con- 
nubial felicity, and is a great stickler for old-fashioned 
gallantry, devoted attentions, and eternal constancy, on 
the part of the gentlemen. She lives, however, after her 
own taste. Her house, I am told, must have been built 
and furnished about the time of Sir Charles Grandison : 
everything about it is somewhat formal and stately ; but 
has been softened down into a degree of voluptuousness, 
characteristic of an old lady, very tender-hearted and 
romantic, and who loves her ease. The cushions of the 
great arm-chairs, and wide sofas, almost bury you when 
you sit down on them. Flowers of the most rare and 
delicate kind are placed about the rooms and on little 



TEE WIDOW. 41 

japanned stands ; and sweet bags lie about the tables and 
mantelpieces. Tlie house is full of pet dogs, Angola cats, 
and singing-birds, who are as carefully waited upon as 
she is herself. 

She is dainty in her living, and a little of an epicure, 
living on white meats, and little ladylike dishes, though 
her servants have substantial old English fare, as their 
looks bear witness. Indeed they are so indulged that 
they are all spoiled ; and when they lose their present 
place, they will be fit for no other. Her ladyship is one 
of those easy-tempered beings, that are always doomed 
to be much liked, but ill served by their domestics, and 
cheated by all the world. 

Much of her time is passed in reading novels, of which 
she has a most extensive library, and a constant supply 
from the publishers in town. Her erudition in this line 
of literature is immense ; she has kept pace with the press 
for half a century. Her mind is stuffed with love-tales 
of all kinds, from the stately amours of the old books of 
chivalry, down to the last blue-covered romance, reeking 
from the press ; though she evidently gives the prefer- 
ence to those that came out in the days of her youth, and 
when she was first in love. She maintains that there are 
no novels written nowadays equal to Pamela and Sir 
Charles Grandison ; and she places the Castle of Otranto 
at the head of all romances. 

She does a vast deal of good in her neighborhood, and 
is imposed upon by every beggar in the county. She is 



42 BBAGEBRIDOE HALL. 

tlie benefactress of a village adjoining her estate, and 
takes an especial interest in all its love-affairs. Slie 
knows of every courtship that is going on ; every love- 
lorn damsel is sure to find a patient listener and a sage 
adviser in her ladyship. She takes great pains to rec- 
oncile all love-quarrels ; and should any faithless swain 
persist in his inconstancy, he is sure to draw on him- 
self the good lady's violent indignation. 

I have learned these particulars partly from Frank 
Bracebridge, and partly from Master Simon. I am now 
able to account for the assiduous attention of the latter 
to her ladyship. Her house is one of his favorite re- 
sorts, where he is a very important personage. He 
makes her a visit of business once a year, when he looks 
into all her affairs ; which, as she is no manager, are apt 
to get into confusion. He examines the books of the 
overseer, and shoots about the estate, which, he says, 
is well stocked with game, notwithstanding that it is 
poached by all the vagabonds in the neighborhood. 

It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captain will 
inherit the greater part of her property, having always 
been her chief favorite : for, in fact, she is partial to a red 
coat. She has now come to the Hall to be present at his 
nuptials, having a great disposition to interest herself in 
all matters of love and matrimony. 



THE LOVEKS. 

Kise up, my love, my fair one, and come away ; for lo the winter is past, the 
rain is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the sing- 
ing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land. — Song of 
Solomon. 

O a man who is little of a philosopher, and a 
bachelor to boot ; and who, by dint of some ex- 
perience in the follies of life, begins to look 
with a learned eye upon the ways of man, and eke of wo- 
man ; to such a man, I say, there is something very 
entertaining in noticing the conduct of a pair of young 
lovers. It may not be as grave and scientific a study as 
the loves of the plants, but it is certainly as interesting. 

I have therefore derived much pleasure, since my ar- 
rival at the Hall, from observing the fair Julia and her 
lover. She has all the delightful, blushing consciousness 
of an artless girl, inexperienced in coquetry, who has 
made her first conquest ; while the captain regards her 
with that mixture of fondness and exultation with which 
a youthful lover is . apt to contemplate so beauteous a 
prize. 

I observed them yesterday in the garden, advancing 
along one of the retired walks. The sun was shining 

43 



44 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

■witli delicious warmtli, making great masses of bright 
verdure, and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, that "har- 
binger of spring," was faintly heard from a distance ; the 
thrush piped from the hawthorn ; and the yellow butter- 
flies sported, and toyed, and coquetted in the air. 

The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, listening 
to his conversation, with her eyes cast down, a soft blush 
on her cheek, and a quiet smile on her lips, while in the 
hand that hung negligently by her side was a bunch of 
flowers. In this way they were sauntering slowly along ; 
and when I considered them, and the scene in which they 
were moving, I could not but think it a thousand pities 
that the season should ever change, or that young people 
should ever grow older, or that blossoms should give way 
to fruit, or that lovers should ever get married. 

From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I un- 
derstand that the fair Julia is the daughter of a favorite 
college friend of the Squire ; who, after leaving Oxford, 
had entered the army, and served for many years in In- 
dia, where he was mortally wounded in a skirmish with 
the natives. In his last moments he had, with a faltering 
pen, recommended his wife and daughter to the kindness 
of his early friend. 

The widow and her child returned to England helpless 
and almost hopeless. When Mr. Bracebridge received 
accounts of their situation, he hastened to their relief. 
He reached them just in time to soothe the last moments 
of the mother, who was dying of a consumption, and to 




^S'VMy ZLmiAh. 



THE L0VEB8. 45 

make her tappy in tlie assurance that her child should 
never want a protector. 

The good Squire returned with his prattling charge to 
his stronghold, where he has brought her up with a ten- 
derness truly paternal. As he has taken some pains to 
superintend her education, and form her taste, she has 
grown up with many of his notions, and considers him 
the wisest as well as the best of men. Much of her 
time, too, has been passed with Lady Lilly craft, who has 
instructed her in the manners of the old school, and en- 
riched her mind with all kinds of novels and romances. 
Indeed, her ladyship has had a great hand in promoting 
the match between Julia and the captain, having had 
them together at her country seat the moment she found 
there was an attachment growing up between them ; the 
good lady being never so happy as when she has a pair 
of turtles cooing about her. 

I have been pleased to see the fondness with which the 
fair Julia is regarded by the old servants at the Hall. 
She has been a pet with them from childhood, and every 
one seems to lay some claim to her education ; so that it 
is no wonder she should be extremely accomplished. 
The gardener taught her to rear flowers, of which she is 
extremely fond. Old Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, 
softens when she approaches ; and as she sits lightly and 
gracefully in her saddle, claims the merit of having 
taught her to ride ; while the housekeeper, who almost 
looks upon her as a daughter, intimates that she first 



46 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

gave her an insiglit into tlie mysteries of the toilet, hav- 
ing been dressing-maid in her young days to the late 
Mrs. Bracebridge. I am inclined to credit this last 
claim, as I have noticed that the dress of the young lady 
had an air of the old school, though managed with native 
taste, and that her hair was put up very much in the 
style of Sir Peter Lely's portraits in the picture gallery. 

Her very musical attainments partake of this old- 
fashioned character, and most of her songs are such as 
are not at the present day to be found on the piano of a 
modern performer. I have, however, seen so much of 
modern fashions, modern accomplishments, and modern 
fine ladies, that I relish this tinge of antiquated style in 
so young and lovely a girl; and I have had as much 
pleasure in hearing her warble one of the old songs of 
Herrick, or Carew, or Suckling, adapted to some simple 
old melody, as from listening to a lady amateur sky-lark 
it up and down through the finest bravura of Eossini or 
Mozart. 

"We have very pretty music in the evenings, occasion- 
ally, between her and the captain, assisted sometimes by 
Master Simon, who scrapes, dubiously, on his violin; be- 
ing very apt to get out and to halt a note or two in the 
rear. Sometimes he even thrums a little on the piano, 
and takes a part in a trio, in which his voice can gener- 
ally be distinguished by a certain quavering tone, and 
an occasional false note. 

I was praising the fair Julia's performance to him 



THE LOVERS. 47 

after one of her songs, wlien I found lie took to himself 
the whole credit of having formed her musical taste, as- 
suring me that she was very apt ; and, indeed, summing 
up her whole character in his knowing way, by adding, 
that "she was a very nice girl, and had no nonsense 
about her." 



FAMILY EELICS. 

My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye. 

The dimple on her cheek : and such sweet skill 

Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown. 

Those lips look fresh and lively as her own. 

False colors last after the true be dead. 

Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, 

Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, 

Of all the music set upon her tongue, 

Of all that was past woman's excellence 

In her white bosom ; look, a painted board 

Circumscribes all ! Dekker. 

N old English family mansion is a fertile sub- 
ject for study. It abounds witli illustrations 
of former times, and traces of tlie tastes, and 
humors, and manners, of successive generations. The 
alterations and additions, in different styles of archi- 
tecture ; the furniture, plate, pictures, hangings ; the war- 
like and sporting implements of different ages and fan- 
cies ; all furnish food for curious and amusing specula- 
tion. As the Squire is very careful in collecting and pre- 
serving all family relics, the Hall is full of remembrances 
of the kind. In looking about the establishment, I can 
picture to myself the characters and habits that have 

48 




FAMILY BELIG8. 49 

prevailed at different eras of the family history. I have 
mentioned on a former occasion the armor of the cru- 
saders which hangs up in the Hall. There are also 
several jackboots, with enormously thick soles and high 
heels, which belonged to a set of cavaliers, who filled the 
Hall with the din and stir of arms during the time of the 
Covenanters. A number of enormous drinking -vessels 
of antique fashion, with huge Venice glasses, and green 
hock-glasses, with the Apostles in relief on them, remain 
as monuments of a generation or two of hard livers, who 
led a life of roaring revelry, and first introduced the gout 
into the family. 

I shall pass over several more such indications of tem- 
porary tastes of the Squire's predecessors ; but I cannot 
forbear to notice a pair of antlers in the great hall, which 
is one of the trophies of a hard-riding squire of former 
times, who was the Nimrod of these parts. There are 
many traditions of his wonderful feats in hunting still 
existing, which are related by old Christy, the huntsman, 
who gets exceedingly nettled if they are in the least 
doubted. Indeed, there is a frightful chasm, a few miles 
from the Hall, which goes by the name of the Squire's 
Leap, from his having cleared it in the ardor of the 
chase ; there can be no doubt of the fact, for old Christy 
shows the very dints of the horse's hoofs on the rocks on 
each side of the chasm. 

Master Simon holds the memory of this Squire in 
great veneration, and has a number of extraordinary 
4 



60 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

stories to tell concerning him, which he repeats at all 
hunting-dinners ; and I am told that they wax more and 
more marvellous the older they grow. He has also a 
pair of Rippon spurs which belonged to this mighty 
hunter of yore, and which he only wears on particular 
occasions. 

The place, however, which abounds most with memen- 
tos of past times, is the picture gallery; and there is 
something strangely pleasing, though melancholy, in 
considering the long rows of portraits which compose 
the greater part of the collection. They furnish a kind 
of narrative of the lives of the family worthies which I 
am enabled to read with the assistance of the venerable 
housekeeper, who is the family chronicler, prompted 
occasionally by Master Simon. There is the progress of 
a fine lady, for instance, through a variety of portraits. 
One represents her as a little girl, with a long waist and 
hoop, holding a kitten in her arms, and ogling the spec- 
tator out of the corners of her eyes, as if she could not 
tui'n her head. In another we find her in the freshness 
of youthful beauty, when she was a celebrated belle, and 
so hard-hearted as to cause several unfortunate gentle- 
men to run desperate and write bad poetry. In another 
she is depicted as a stately dame, in the maturity of her 
charms ; next to the portrait of her husband, a gallant 
colonel in full-bottomed wig and gold-laced hat, who was 
killed abroad ; and, finally, her monument is in the 
church, the spire of which may be seen from the window, 



FAMILY RELICS. 5I 

where lier effigy is carved in marble, and represents her 
as a venerable dame of seventy-sis. 

In like manner I have followed some of the family 
great men through a series of pictures, from early boy- 
hood to the robe of dignity, or truncheon of command, 
and so on by degrees, until they were garnered up in the 
common repository, the neighboring church. 

There is one group that particularly interested me. 
It consisted of four sisters of nearly the same age, who 
flourished about a century since, and, if I may judge from 
their portraits, were extremely beautiful. I can imagine 
what a scene of gayety and romance this old mansion 
must have been, when they were in the heyday of their 
charms ; when they passed like beautiful visions through 
its halls, or stepped daintily to music in the revels and 
dances of the cedar gallery; or printed, with delicate 
feet, the velvet verdure of these lawns. How must they 
have been looked up to with mingled love, and pride, and 
reverence, by the old family servants ; and followed with 
almost painful admiration by the aching eyes of rival 
admirers ! How must melody, and song, and tender ser- 
enade, have breathed about these courts, and their echoes 
whispered to the loitering tread of lovers ! How must 
these very turrets have made the hearts of the young 
galliards thrill as they first discerned them from afar, 
rising from among the trees, and pictured to themselves 
the beauties casketed like gems within these walls ! In- 
deed, I have discovered about the place several faint 



52 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

records of this reign of love and romance, when the Hall 
was a kind of Court of Beauty. 

Several of the old romances in the library have mar- 
ginal notes expressing sympathy and approbation, where 
there are long speeches extolling ladies' charms, or pro- 
testing eternal fidelity, or bewailing the cruelty of some 
tyrannical fair one. The interviews, and declarations, 
and parting scenes of tender lovers, also bear evidence of 
having been frequently read, and are scored and marked 
with notes of admiration, and have initials written on the 
margin ; most of which annotations have the day of the 
month and year annexed to them. Several of the win- 
dows, too, have scraps of poetry engraved on them with 
diamonds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs. Phil- 
ips, the once celebrated Orinda. Some of these seem to 
have been inscribed by lovers ; and others, in a delicate 
and unsteady hand, and a little inaccurate in the spelling, 
have evidently been written by the young ladies them- 
selves, or by female friends, who have been on visits to 
the Hall. Mrs. Philips seems to have been their favorite 
author, and they have distributed the names of her he- 
roes and heroines among their circle of intimacy. Some- 
times, in a male hand, the verse bewails the cruelty of 
beauty, and the sufferings of constant love ; while in a 
female hand it prudishly confines itself to lamenting the 
parting of female friends. The bow-window of my bed- 
room, which has, doubtless, been inhabited by one of 
these beauties, has several of these inscriptions. I have 



FAMILY RELICS. 53 

one at this moment before my eyes, called " Camilla part- 
ing with Leonora " : 

" How perished is the joy that 's past, 
The present how unsteady ! 
"What comfort can be great and last, 
When this is gone already ? " 

And close by it is another, written, perhaps, by some ad- 
venturous lover, who had stolen into the lady's chamber 
during her absence. 

"THEODOSIUS to CAMILLA. 

I'd rather in your favor live 

Than in a lasting name ; 
And much a greater rate would give 

For happiness than fame. 

Theodosius, 1700." 

When I look at these faint records of gallantry and 
tenderness ; when I contemplate the fading portraits of 
these beautiful girls, and think too that they have long 
since bloomed, reigned, grown old, died, and passed 
away, and with them all their graces, their triumphs, 
their rivalries, their admirers ; the whole empire of love 
and pleasure in which they ruled — " all dead, all buried, 
all forgotten," I find a cloud of melancholy stealing over 
the present gayeties around me. I was gazing, in a mus- 
ing mood, this very morning, at the portrait of the lady 
whose husband was killed abroad, when the fair Julia en- 
tered the gallery, leaning on the arm of the caj)tain. The 



54 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

sun slione tlirongh the row of windows on her as she 
passed along, and she seemed to beam out each time into 
brightness, and relapse into shade, until the door at the 
bottom of the gallery closed after her. I felt a sadness 
of heart at the idea, that this was an emblem of her lot : 
a few more years of sunshine and shade, and all this life, 
and loveliness, and enjoyment will have ceased, and noth- 
ing be left to commemorate this beautiful being but one 
more perishable portrait ; to awaken, perhaps, the trite 
speculations of some future loiterer, like myself, when I 
and my scribblings shall have lived through our brief ex- 
istence, and been forgotten. 



AN OLD SOLDIEE. 

I've worn some leather out abroad ; let out a heathen soul or two ; fed this 
good sword with the black blood of pagan Christians ; converted a few infi- 
dels with it.— But let that pass.— The Okdinart. 



HE Hall was thrown into some little agitation, 
a few days since, by the arrival of General 
Harbottle. He had been expected for several 
days, and looked for, rather impatiently, by several of the 
family. Master Simon assured me that I would like the 
general hugely, for he was a blade of the old school, and 
an excellent table-companion. Lady Lillycraft, also, ap- 
peared to be somewhat fluttered on the morning of the 
general's arrival, for he had been one of her early ad- 
mirers ; and she recollected him only as a dashing young 
ensign, just come upon the town. She actually spent an 
hour longer at her toilette, and made her appearance 
with her hair uncommonly frizzed and powdered, and an 
additional quantity of rouge. She was evidently a little 
surprised and shocked, therefore, at finding the lithe 
dashing ensign transformed into a corpulent old general, 
with a double chin ; though it was a perfect picture to 
witness their salutations, the graciousness of her pro- 
found courtesy, and the air of the old school with which 

55 



56 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

the general took off liis hat, swayed it gently in his hand, 
and bowed his powdered head. 

All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to study 
the general with a little more attention than, perhaps, I 
should otherwise have done ; and the few days that he 
has already passed at the Hall have enabled me, I think, 
to furnish a tolerable likeness of him to the reader. 

He is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the old 
school, with powdered head, side-locks, and pigtail. His 
face is shaped like the stern of a Dutch man-of-war, nar- 
row at top, and wide at bottom, with full rosy cheeks 
and a double chin ; so that, to use the cant of the day, 
his organs of eating may be said to be powerfully de- 
veloped. 

The general, though a veteran, has seen very little ac- 
tive service, except the taking of Seringapatam, which 
forms an era in his history. He wears a large emerald 
in his bosom, and a diamond on his finger, which he got 
on that occasion, and whoever is unlucky enough to no- 
tice either, is sure to involve himself in the whole his- 
tory of the siege. To judge from the general's conversa- 
tion, the taking of Seringapatam is the most important 
affair that has occurred for the last century. 

On the approach of warlike times on the Continent, he 
was rapidly promoted to get him out of the way of 
younger officers of merit ; until, having been hoisted to 
the rank of general, he was quietly laid on the shelf. 
Since that time his campaigns have been principally con- 



AN OLD SOLDIER. 57 

fined to watering-places ; where lie drinks the waters for 
a slight touch of the liver which he got in India, and 
plays whist with old dowagers, with whom he has flirted 
in his younger days. Indeed, he talks of all the fine 
women of the last half century, and, according to hints 
which he now and then drops, has enjoyed the particular 
smiles of many of them. 

He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can speak 
of almost every place famous for good quarters, and 
where the inhabitants give good dinners. He is a diner- 
out of first-rate currency, when in town; being invited to 
one place because he has been seen at another. In the 
same way he is invited about the country-seats, and can 
describe half the seats in the kingdom, from actual ob- 
servation; nor is any one better versed in court gossip, 
and the pedigrees and intermarriages of the nobility. 

As the general is an old bachelor, and an old beau, 
and there are several ladies at the Hall, especially his 
quondam flame Lady LiUycraft, he is put rather upon 
his gallantry. He commonly passes some time, therefore, 
at his toilette, and takes the field at a late hour every 
morning, with his hair dressed out and powdered, and a 
rose in his button-hole. After he has breakfasted, he 
walks up and down the terrace in the sunshine, humming 
an air, and hemming between every stave, carrying one 
hand behind his back, and with the other touching his 
cane to the ground, and then raising it up to his shoul- 
der. Should he, in these morning promenades, meet any 



58 BRAGEBBIDQE HALL. 

of the elder ladies of the family, as he frequently does 
Lady Lillycraft, his hat is immediately in his hand, and 
it is enough to remind one of those courtly groups of la- 
dies and gentlemen, in old prints of Windsor Terrace, or 
Kensington Garden. 

He talks frequently about " the service," and is fond of 
humming the old song, 

"Why, soldiers, why, 
Should we be melancholy, boys ? 
"Why, soldiers, why, 
Whose business 'tis to die ! " 

I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever run 
any great risk of dying, excepting from an apoplexy or 
an indigestion. He criticises all the battles on the Conti- 
nent, and discusses the merits of the commanders, but 
never fails to bring the conversation, ultimately, to Tip- 
poo Saib and Seringapatam. I am told that the gen- 
eral was a perfect champion at drawing-rooms, parades, 
and watering-places, during the late war, and was looked 
to with hope and confidence by many an old lady, when 
laboring under the terror of Bonaparte's invasion. 

He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on 
levees when in town. He has treasured up many remark- 
able sayings of the late king, particularly one which the 
king made to him on a field-day, complimenting him on 
the excellence of his horse. He extols the whole royal 
family, but especially the present king, whom he pro- 
nounces the most perfect gentleman and best whist- 



AJS" OLD SOLDIER. 59 

player in Europe. The general swears rather more than 
is the fashion at the present day ; but it was the mode in 
the old school. He is, however, very strict in religious 
matters, and a stanch churchman. He repeats the re- 
sponses very loudly in church, and is emphatical in pray- 
ing for the king and royal family. 

At table his royalty waxes very fervent with his sec- 
ond bottle, and the song of "God save the King" puts 
him into a perfect ecstasy. He is amazingly well con- 
tented with the present state of things, and apt to get a 
little impatient at any talk about national ruin and agri- 
cultural distress. He says he has travelled about the 
country as much as any man, and has met with nothing 
but prosperity ; and to confess the truth, a great part of 
his time is spent in visiting from one country-seat to an- 
other, and riding about the parks of his friends. " They 
talk of public distress," said the general this day to me, 
at dinner, as he smacked a glass of rich burgundy, and 
cast his eyes about the ample board ; " they talk of pub- 
lic distress, but where do we find it, sir ? I see none. I 
see no reason any one has to complain. Take my word 
for it, sir, this talk about public distress is all humbug!" 



THE WIDOW'S EETINUE. 

Little dogs and all ! 

Lear. 



N giving an account of the arrival of Lady Lilly- 
craft at the Hall, I ouglit to have mentioned 
the entertainment which I derived from wit- 
nessing the unpacking of her carriage, and the disposing 
of her retinue. There is something extremely amusing 
to me in the number of factitious wants, the loads of im- 
aginary conveniences, but real incumbrances, with which 
the luxurious are apt to burden themselves. I like to 
watch the whimsical stir and display about one of these 
petty progresses. The number of robustious footmen and 
retainers of all kinds bustling about, with looks of infi- 
nite gravity and importance, to do almost nothing. [The 
number of heavy trunks, and parcels, and bandboxes be- 
longing to my lady ; and the solicitude exhibited about 
some humble, odd-looking box, by my lady's maid ; the 
cushions piled in the carriage to make a soft seat still 
softer, and to prevent the dreaded possibility of a jolt ; the 
smelling-bottles, the cordials, the baskets of biscuit and 
fruit ; the new publications ; all provided to guard against 

60 



THE WIDOW'S BETINUE. g^ 

hunger, fatigue, or ennui; the led horses to vary the 
mode of travelling, and all this preparation and parade to 
move, perhaps, some very good-for-nothing personage 
about a little space of earth ! 

I do not mean to apply the latter part of these obser- 
vations to Lady Lillycraft, for whose simple kind-heart- 
edness I have a very great respect, and who is really a 
most amiable and worthy being. I cannot refrain, how- 
ever, from mentioning some of the motley retinue she 
has brought with her ; and which, indeed, bespeak the 
overflowing kindness of her nature, which requires her 
to be surrounded with objects on which to lavish it. 
A In the first place, her ladyship has a pampered coach- 
man, with a red face, and cheeks that hang down like 
dew-laps. He evidently domineers over her a little with 
respect to the fat horses; and only drives out when he 
thinks proper, and when he thinks it will be "good for 
the cattle." 

She has a favorite page to attend upon her person : a 
handsome boy of about twelve years of age, but a mis- 
chievous varlet, very much spoiled, and in a fair way to 
be good for nothing. He is dressed in green, with a pro- 
fusion of gold cord and gilt buttons about his clothes. 
She always has one or two attendants of the kind, who 
are replaced by others as soon as they grow to fourteen 
years of age. She has brought two dogs with her, also, 
out of a number of pets which she maintains at home. 
One is a fat spaniel called Zephyr— though heaven de- 



62 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

fend me from sucli a zephyr ! He is fed out of all shape 
and comfort; his eyes are nearly strained out of his 
head ; he wheezes with corpulency, and cannot walk 
without great difficulty. The other is a little, old, gray 
muzzled curmudgeon, with an unhappy eye, that kindles 
like a coal if you only look at him ; his nose turns up ; 
his mouth is drawn into wrinkles, so as to show his 
teeth ; in short, he has altogether the look of a dog far 
gone in misanthropy, and totally sick of the world. 
When he walks, he has his tail curled up so tight that it 
seems to lift his feet from the ground; and he seldom 
makes use of more than three legs at a time, keeping the 
other drawn up as a reserve. This last wretch is called 
Beauty. 

These dogs are full of elegant ailments unknown to 
vulgar dogs ; and are petted and nursed by Lady Lilly- 
craft with the tenderest kindness. They are pampered 
and fed with delicacies by their fellow-minion, the page ; 
but their stomachs are often weak and out of order, so 
that they cannot eat ; though I have now and then seen 
the page give them a mischievous pinch, or thwack over 
the head, when his mistress was not by. They have 
cushions for their express use, on which they lie before 
the fire, and yet are apt to shiver and moan if there is 
the least draught of air. When any one enters the 
room, they make a tyrannical barking that is absolutely 
deafening. They are insolent to all the other dogs of 
the establishment. There is a noble stag-hound, a great 



THE WIDOW'S RETINUE. 63 

favorite of the Squire's, who is a privileged visitor to the 
parlor ; but the moment he makes his appearance, these 
intruders fly at him with furious rage ; and I have ad- 
mired the sovereign indifference and contempt with 
which he seems to look down upon his puny assailants. 
When her ladyship drives out, these dogs are generally 
carried with her to take the air ; when they look out of 
each window of the carriage, and bark at all vulgar pedes- 
trian dogs. /T?hese dogs are a continual source of misery 
to the household : as they are always in the way, they 
every now and then get their toes trod on, and then 
there is a yelping on their part, and a loud lamentation 
on the part of their mistress, that fill the room with 
clamor and confusion. 

Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentlewoman, 
Mrs. Hannah, a prim, pragmatical old maid ; one of the 
most intolerable and intolerant virgins that ever lived. 
She has kept her virtue by her until it has turned sour, 
and now every word and look smacks of verjuice. She is 
the very opposite to her mistress, for one hates, and the 
other loves, all mankind. How they first came together 
I cannot imagine ; but they have lived together for many 
years ; and the abigail's temper being tart and encroach- 
ing, and her ladyship's easy and yielding, the former has 
got the complete upperhand, and tyrannizes over the good 
lady in secret. 

Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in great 
confidence, to her friends, but hushes up the subject im- 



64 BBACEBRIDQE HALL. 

mediately, if Mrs. Hannah, makes her appearance. In- 
deed, she has been so accustomed to be attended by her, 
that she thinks she could not do without her : though one 
great study of her life is to keep Mrs. Hannah in good 
humor by little presents and kindnesses. 

Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, mingled 
with awe, for this ancient spinster. He told me the other 
day, in a whisper, that she was a cursed brimstone, — in 
fact, he added another epithet, whicli I would not repeat 
for the world. I have remarked, however, that he is al- 
ways extremely civil to her when they meet. 



EEADY-MONEY JACK. 

My purse, it is my privy wyfe, 
This song I dare both syng and say, 
It keepeth men from grievous stryfe 
When every man for hymself shall pay 
As I ryde in ryche array 
For gold and silver men wyll me floryshe ; 
By thys matter I dare well saye, 
Ever gramercy myne owne purse. 

Book of Hunting. 



N the skirts of the neighboring village there 
lives a kind of small potentate, who, for aught 
I know, is a representative of one of the most 
ancient legitimate lines of the present day ; for the em- 
pire over which he reigns has belonged to his family- 
time out of mind. His territories comprise a consider- 
able number of good fat acres ; and his seat of power is 
in an old farm-house, where he enjoys, unmolested, the 
stout oaken chair of his ancestors. The personage to 
whom I allude is a sturdy old yeoman of the name of 
John Tibbets, or rather Eeady-Money Jack Tibbets, 
as he is called throughout the neighborhood. 

The first place where he attracted my attention was in 
the church-yard on Sunday; where he sat on a tomb- 
5 65 



66 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

stone after tlie service, with, his hat a little on one side, 
holding forth to a small circle of auditors ; and, as I pre- 
sumed, expounding the law and the prophets ; until, on 
drawing a little nearer, I found he was only expatiating 
on the merits of a brown horse. He presented so faith- 
ful a picture of a substantial English yeoman, such as he 
is often described in books, heightened, indeed, by some 
little j&nery peculiar to himself, that I could not but take 
note of his whole appearance. 

He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong, muscular 
frame, and at least six feet high, with a physiognomy as 
grave as a lion's, and set off with short, curling, iron-gray 
locks. His shirt-collar was turned down, and displayed 
a neck covered with the same short, curling, gray hair ; 
and he wore a colored silk neck-cloth, tied very loosely, 
and tucked in at the bosom, with a green paste brooch 
on the knot. His coat was of dark-green cloth, with 
silver buttons, on each of which was engraved a stag, 
with his own name, John Tibbets, underneath. He had 
an inner waistcoat of figured chintz, between which and 
his coat was another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His 
breeches were also left unbuttoned at the knees, not from 
any slovenliness, but to show a broad pair of scarlet 
garters. His stockings were blue, with white clocks ; he 
wore large silver shoe-buckles ; a broad paste buckle in 
his hatband ; his sleeve-buttons were gold seven-shilling 
pieces ; and he had two • or three guineas hanging as 
ornaments to his watch-chain. 



BEADY-MONET JACK. 67 

On making some inquiries about him, I gathered, that 
he was descended from a line of farmers that had always 
lived on the same spot, and owned the same property ; 
and that half of the church-yard was taken up with the 
tombstones of his race. He has all his life been an im- 
portant character in the place. When a youngster he 
was one of the most roaring blades of the neighborhood. 
No one could match him at wrestling, pitching the bar, 
cudgel play, and other athletic exercises. Like the 
renowned Pinner of Wakefield, he was the village cham- 
pion ; carried off the prize at all the fairs, and threw his 
gauntlet at the country round. Even to this day the old 
people talk of his prowess, and undervalue, in compari- 
son, all heroes of the green that have succeeded him ; 
nay, they say, that if Keady-Money Jack were to take 
the field even now, there is no one could stand before 
him. 

When Jack's father died, the neighbors shook their 
heads, and predicted that young hopeful would soon 
make way with the old homestead ; but Jack falsified all 
their predictions. The moment he succeeded to the pa- 
ternal farm, he assumed a new character : took a wife ; 
attended resolutely to his affairs, and became an indus- 
trious, thrifty farmer. With the family property he in- 
herited a set of old family maxims, to which he steadily 
adhered. He saw to everything himself; put his own 
hand to the plough ; worked hard ; ate heartily ; slept 
soundly; paid for everything in cash down; and never 



68 BBACEBBIBGE HALL. 

danced except lie could do it to the music of his own 
money in both pockets. He has never been without a 
hundred or two pounds in gold by him, and never allows 
a debt to stand unpaid. This has gained him his current 
name, of which, by the by, he is a little proud ; and has 
caused him to be looked upon as a very wealthy man by 
all the village. 

Notwithstanding his thrift, however, he has never de- 
nied himself the amusements of life, but has taken a 
share in every passing pleasure. It is his maxim, that 
"he that works hard can afford to play." He is, there- 
fore, an attendant at all the country fairs and wakes, and 
has signalized himself by feats of strength and prowess 
on every village green in the shire. He often makes his 
appearance at horse-races, and sports his half- guinea, 
and even his guinea at a time ; keeps a good horse for 
his own riding, and to this day is fond of following the 
hounds, and is generally in at the death. He keeps up 
the rustic revels, and hospitalities too, for which his pa- 
ternal farm-house has always been noted ; has plenty 
of good cheer and dancing at harvest-home, and, above 
all, keeps the " merry night," * as it is termed, at Christ- 
mas. 

With all his love of amusement, however, Jack is by 

* Meery Night. A rustic merry-making in a farm-house about Christ- 
mas, common in some parts of Yorkshire. There is abundance of home- 
ly fare, tea, cakes, fruit, and ale ; various feats of agility, amusing games, 
romping, dancing, and kissing withal. They commonly break up at mid- 
night. 



BEADT-MONEY JACK. 69 

no means a boisterous joyial companion. He is seldom 
known to laugh even in the midst of his gayety: but 
maintains the same grave, lion-like demeanor. He is 
very slow at comprehending a joke ; and is apt to sit puz- 
zling at it, with a perplexed look, while the rest of the 
company is in a roar. This gravity has, perhaps, grown 
on him with the growing weight of his character ; for he 
is gradually rising into patriarchal dignity in his native 
place. Though he no longer takes an active part in ath- 
letic sports, he always presides at them, and is appealed 
to on all occasions as umpire. He maintains the peace 
on the village green at holiday games, and quells all 
brawls and quarrels by collaring the parties and shaking 
them heartily, if refractory. No one ever pretends to 
raise a hand against him, or to contend against his deci- 
sions ; the young men have grown up in habitual awe of 
his prowess, and in implicit deference to him as the 
champion and lord of the green. 

He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, the land- 
lady having been a sweetheart of his in early life, and he 
having always continued on kind terms with her. He 
seldom, however, drinks anything but a draught of ale ; 
smokes his pipe, and pays his reckoning before leaving 
the tap-room. Here he "gives his little senate laws" 
decides bets, which are very generally referred to him 
determines upon the characters and qualities of horses 
and, indeed, plays now and then the part of a judge, in 
settling petty disputes between neighbors, which other- 



70 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

wise miglit have been nursed by country attorneys into 
tolerable law-suits. Jack is very candid and impartial in 
his decisions, but he has not a head to carry a long argu- 
ment, and is very apt to get perplexed and out of patience 
if there is much pleading. He generally breaks through 
the argument with a strong voice, and brings matters to 
a summary conclusion by pronouncing what he calls the 
" upshot of the business," or, in other words, " the long 
and the short of the matter." 

Jack made a journey to London a great many years 
since, which has furnished him with topics of conversa- 
tion ever since. He saw the old king on the terrace at 
Windsor, who stopped, and pointed him out to one of the 
princesses, being probably struck with Jack's truly yeo- 
manlike appearance. This is a favorite anecdote with 
him, and has no doubt had a great effect in making him a 
most loyal subject ever since, in spite of taxes and poors' 
rates. He was also at Bartholomew fair, where he had 
half the buttons cut off his coat ; and a gang of pickpock- 
ets, attracted by his external show of gold and silver, 
made a regular attempt to hustle him as he was gazing at 
a show ; but for once they caught a tartar, for Jack en- 
acted as great wonders among the gang as Samson did 
among the Philistines. One of his neighbors, who had 
accompanied him to town, and was Avith him at the fair, 
brought back an account of his exploits, which raised the 
pride of the whole village ; who considered their cham- 
pion as having subdued all London, and eclipsed the 



BEADT-MONEY JACK. 7I 

achievements of Friar Tuck, or even the renowned Eobin 
Hood himself. 

Of late years the old fellow has begun to take the 
world easily; he works less, and indulges in greater 
leisure, his son having grown up and succeeded to him 
both in the labors of the farm and the exploits of the 
green. Like all sons of distinguished men, however, his 
father's renown is a disadvantage to him, for he can 
never come up to public expectation. Though a fine ac- 
tive fellow of three-and-twenty, and quite the "cock of 
the walk," yet the old people declare he is nothing like 
what Keady-Money Jack was at his time of life. The 
youngster himself acknowledges his inferiority, and has a 
wonderful opinion of the old man, who indeed taught him 
all his athletic accomplishments, and holds such a sway 
over him, that, I am told, even to this day, he would have 
no hesitation to take him in hands, if he rebelled against 
paternal government. 

The Squire holds Jack in very high esteem, and shows 
him to all his visitors, as a specimen of old English 
"heart of oak." He frequently calls at his house, and 
tastes some of his home-brewed, which is excellent. He 
made Jack a present of old Tusser's " Hundred Points of 
good Husbandrie," which has furnished him with reading 
ever since, and is his text-book and manual in all agricul- 
tural and domestic concerns. He has made dog's ears at 
the most favorite passages, and knows many of the poeti- 
cal maxims by heart. 



72 BBACEBBIBGE HALL. 

Tibbets, tliougli not a man to be daunted or fluttered 
by liigli acquaintances, and tliougli lie cherishes a sturdy- 
independence of mind and manner, yet is evidently grati- 
fied by the attentions of the Squire, whom he has known 
from boyhood, and pronounces " a true gentleman every 
inch of him." He is, also, on excellent terms with 
Master Simon, who is a kind of privy counsellor to the 
family ; but his great favorite is the Oxonian, whom he 
taught to wrestle and play at quarter-staff when a boy, 
and considers the most promising young gentleman in 
the whole county. 



.^■£^^feS^sAi 




t.ak(iL,a.voiA(l 



BACHELOES. 

The Bachelor most joyfully 

In pleasant plight doth pass his dales, 
Goodfellowship and companie 

He doth maintain and keep alwales. 

Evan's Old Ballads. 

HERE is no character in tlie comedy of human 
life more difficult to play well tlian that of an 
old Bachelor. "When a single gentleman, there- 
fore, arrives at that critical period when he begins to con- 
sider it an impertinent question to be asked his age, I 
would advise him to look well to his ways. This period, 
it is true, is much later with some men than with others ; 
I have witnessed more than once the meeting of two wrin- 
kled old lads of this kind, who had not seen each other 
for several years, and have been amused by the amicable 
exchange of compliments on each other's appearance that 
takes place on such occasions. There is always one in- 
variable observation: "Why, bless my soul! you look 
younger than when last I saw you ! " Whenever a man's 
friends begin to compliment him about looking young, 
he may be sure that they think he is growing old. 
I am led to make these remarks by the conduct of Mas- 

73 



74 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

ter Simon and the general, wlio have become great cro- 
nies. As the former is the youngest by many years, he is 
regarded as quite a youthful blade by the general, who, 
moreover, looks upon him as a man of great wit and pro- 
digious acquirements. I have already hinted that Master 
Simon is a family beau, and considered rather a young 
fellow by all the elderly ladies of the connection ; for an 
old bachelor, in an old family connection, is something 
like an actor in a regular dramatic corps, who seems to 
"flourish in immortal youth," and will continue to play 
the Eomeos and Eangers for half a century together. 

Master Simon, too, is a little of the chameleon, and 
takes a different hue with every different companion ; he 
is very attentive and officious, and somewhat sentimental, 
with Lady Lillycraft ; copies out little namby-pamby 
ditties and love-songs for her, and draws quivers, and 
doves, and darts, and Cupids to be worked on the cor- 
ners of her pocket-handkerchiefs. He indulges, however, 
in very considerable latitude with the other married 
ladies of the family ; and has many sly pleasantries to 
whisper to them, that provoke an equivocal laugh and a 
tap of the fan. But when he gets among young company, 
such as Frank Bracebridge, the Oxonian, and the gen- 
eral, he is apt to put on the mad wag, and to talk in a 
very bachelor-like strain about the sex. 

In this he has been encouraged by the example of the 
general, whom he looks up to as a man that has seen the 
world. The general, in fact, tells shocking stories after 



BACHELORS. 75 

dinner, when tlie ladies have retired, which he gives as 
some of the choice things that are served up at the MuUi- 
gatawney club — a knot of boon companions in London. 
He also repeats the fat jokes of old Major Pendergast,the 
wit of the club, and which, though the gentleman can 
hardly repeat them for laughing, always make Mr. Brace- 
bridge look grave, he having a great antipathy to an inde- 
cent jest. In a word, the general is a complete instance of 
the declension in gay life, by which a young man of pleas- 
ure is apt to cool down into an obscene old gentleman. 

I saw him and Master Simon, an evening or two 
since, conversing with a buxom milkmaid in a meadow ; 
and from their elbowing each other now and then, and 
the general's shaking his shoulders, blowing up his 
cheeks, and breaking out into a short fit of irrepressible 
laughter, I had no doubt they were playing the mischief 
with the girl. 

As I looked at them through a hedge, I could not but 
think they would have made a tolerable group for a 
modern picture of Susannah and the two elders. It is 
true, the girl seemed in nowise alarmed at the force of 
the enemy; and I question, had either of them been 
alone, whether she would not have been more than they 
would have ventured to encounter. Such veteran rois- 
ters are daring wags when together, and will put any 
female to the blush with their jokes ; but they are as 
quiet as lambs when they fall singly into the clutches 
of a fine woman. 



76 BBAGEBBIDOE HALL. 

In spite of tlie general's years, lie evidently is a little 
vain of his person, and ambitious of conquests. I have 
observed him on Sunday in church, eying the country 
girls most suspiciously; and have seen him leer upon 
them with a downright amorous look, even when he has 
been gallanting Lady Lillycraft, with great ceremony, 
through the church-yard. The general, in fact, is a vet- 
eran in the service of Cupid rather than of Mars, having 
signalized himself in all the garrison towns and country 
quarters, and seen service in every ball-room of England. 
Not a celebrated beauty but he has laid siege to ; and if 
his word may be taken in a matter wherein no man is apt 
to be over-veracious, it is incredible the success he has 
had with the fair. At present he is like a worn-out war- 
rior, retired from service, but who still cocks his beaver 
with a military air, and talks stoutly of fighting whenever 
he comes within the smell of gunpowder. 

I have heard him speak his mind very freely over his 
bottle, about the folly of the captain in taking a wife ; as 
he thinks a young soldier should care for nothing but his 
"bottle and kind landlady." But, in fact, he says, the 
service on the Continent has had a sad effect upon the 
young men ; they have been ruined by light wines and 
French quadrilles. "They've nothing," he says, "of the 
spirit of the old service. There are none of your six- 
bottle men left, that were the souls of a mess-dinner, 
and used to play the very deuce among the women." 

As to a bachelor, the general affirms that he is a free 



BACHELORS. 77 

and easy man, with no baggage to take care of but his 
portmanteau ; but a married man, with his wife hanging 
on his arm, always puts him in mind of a chamber-can- 
dlestick, with its extinguisher hitched to it. I should not 
mind all this if it were merely confined to the general ; 
but I fear he will be the ruin of my friend, Master Simon, 
who already begins to echo his heresies, and to talk in 
the style of a gentleman that has seen life, and lived 
upon the town. Indeed, the general seems to have taken 
Master Simon in hand, and talks of showing him the 
lions when he comes to town, and of introducing him to a 
knot of choice spirits at the Mulligatawney club ; which, 
I understand, is composed of old nabobs, officers in the 
Company's employ, and other " men of Ind," that have 
seen service in the East, and returned home burnt out 
with curry, and touched with the liver-complaint. They 
have their regular club, where they eat Mulligatawney 
soup, smoke the hookah, talk about Tippoo Saib, Serin- 
gapatam, and tiger-hunting; and are tediously agree- 
able in each other's company. 



WIVES. 

Believe me, man, there is no greater blisse 
Than is the quiet joy of loving wife ; 
Which whoso wants, half of himselfe doth misse : 
Friend without change, playfellovt^ without strife ; 
Food without fulnesse, counsaile without pride, 
Is this sweet doubling of our single life. 

Sir p. SiDNEi. 

HEEE is so mucli talk about matrimony going 
on around me, in consequence of tlie approach- 
ing event for wliich we are assembled at the 
Hall, that I confess I find my thoughts singularly exer- 
cised on the subject. Indeed, all the bachelors of the 
establishment seem to be passing through a kind of fiery 
ordeal ; for Lady Lillycraft is one of those tender, ro- 
mance-read dames of the old school, whose mind is filled 
with flames and darts, and who breathe nothing but con- 
stancy and wedlock. She is forever immersed in the 
concerns of the heart, and, to use a poetical phrase, is 
perfectly surrounded by " the purple light of love." The 
very general seems to feel the influence of this senti- 
mental atmosphere, to melt as he approaches her lady- 
ship, and, for the time, to forget all his heresies about 
matrimony and the sex. 

78 



wirus. 



79 



The good lady is generally surrounded by little docu- 
ments of her prevalent taste : novels of a tender nature ; 
richly-bound little books of poetry, that are filled with 
sonnets and love-tales, and perfumed with rose-leaves ; 
and she has always an album at hand, for which she 
claims the contributions of all her friends. On looking 
over this last repository the other day, I found a series 
of poetical extracts, in the Squire's handwriting, which 
might have been intended as matrimonial hints to his 
ward. I was so much struck with several of them, that 
I took the liberty of copying them out. They are from 
the old play of Thomas Davenport, published in 1661, 
entitled "The City Mght-Cap;" in which is drawn 
out and exemplified, in the part of Abstemia, the char- 
acter of a patient and faithful wife, which I think might 
vie with that of the renowned Griselda. 

I have often thought it a pity that plays and novels 
should always end at the wedding, and should not give 
us another act, and another volume, to let us know how 
the hero and heroine conducted themselves when mar- 
ried. Their main object seems to be merely to instruct 
young ladies how to get husbands, but not how to keep 
them : now this last, I speak it with all due diffidence, 
appears to me to be a desideratum in modern married 
life. It is appalling to those who have not yet adven- 
tured into the holy state, to see how soon the flame of 
romantic love burns out, or rather is quenched in matri- 
mony; and how deplorably the passionate poetic lover 



80 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

declines into tlie phlegmatic, prosaic husband. I am 
inclined to attribute this very much to the defect just 
mentioned in the plays and novels, which form so impor- 
tant a branch of study of our young ladies, and which 
teach them how to be heroines, but leave them totally at 
a loss when they come to be wives. The play from 
which the quotations before me were made, however, is 
an exception to this remark ; and I cannot refuse myself 
the pleasure of adducing some of them for the benefit of 
the reader, and for the honor of an old writer, who has 
bravely attempted to awaken dramatic interest in favor 
of a woman, even after she was married ! 

The following is a commendation of Abstemia to her 
husband Lorenzo : 

" She's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence ; 
Not that she wants apt words (for when she speaks, 
She inflames love with wonder), but because 
She calls wise silence the soul's harmony. 
She's truly chaste ; yet such a foe to coyness, 
The poorest call her courteous ; and which is excellent 
(Though fair and young) she shuns to expose herself 
To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom 
Or never walks abroad in your company. 
And then with such sweet bashf ulness, as if 
She were venturing on crack'd ice, and takes delight 
To step into the print your foot hath made, 
And will follow you whole fields ; so she will drive 
Tediousness out of time with her sweet character." 

Notwithstanding all this excellence, Abstemia had the 



WIVES. 81 

misfortune to incur the unmerited jealousy of her hus- 
band. Instead, however, of resenting his harsh treat- 
ment with clamorous upbraidings, and with the stormy- 
violence of high, windy virtue, by which the sparks of 
anger are so often blown into a flame, she endures it with 
the meekness of conscious, but patient virtue ; and makes 
the following beautiful appeal to a friend who has wit- 
nessed her long-suffering : 



" Hast thou not seen me 



Bear all his injuries, as the ocean suffers 

The angry bark to plough thorough her bosom. 

And yet is presently so smooth, the eye 

Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made ? " 

Lorenzo, being wrought on by false representations, at 
length repudiates her. To the last, however, she main- 
tains her patient sweetness, and her love for him, in spite 
of his cruelty. She deplores his error, even more than 
his unkindness; and laments the delusion which has 
turned his very affection into a source of bitterness. 
There is a moving pathos in her parting address to 
Lorenzo after their divorce : 

" Farewell, Lorenzo, 



Whom my soul doth love : if you e'er marry 

May you meet a good wife, so good, that you 

May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy 

Of your suspicion: and if you hear hereafter 

That I am dead, inquire but my last words, 

And you shall know that to the last I loved you. 
6 



82 BRAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

And when you walk forth with your second choice 
Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me, 
Imagine that you see me, lean and pale, 

Strewing your path with flowers 

But may she never live to pay my debts : 

If but in thought she wrong you, may she die 

In the conception of the injury. 

Pray make me wealthy with one kiss : farewell, sir : 

Let it not grieve you when you shall remember 

That I was innocent : nor this forget, 

Though innocence here suffer, sigh, and groan, 

She walks but thorow thorns to find a throne." 

In a sliort time Lorenzo discovers his error and the 
innocence of his injured wife. In the transports of his 
repentance he calls to mind all her feminine excellence ; 
her gentle, uncomplaining, womanly fortitude under 
wrongs and sorrows : 

" Oh Abstemia ! 



How lovely thou lookest now ! now thou appearest 
Chaster than is the morning's modesty 
That rises with a blush, over whose bosom 
The western wind creeps softly; now I remember 
How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye 
Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well, 
Unless it look'd where I look'd : oh how proud 
She was, when she could cross herself to please me ! 
But where now is this fair soul ? Like a silver cloud 
She hath wept herself, I fear, into the dead sea, 
And will be found no more." 

It is but doing right by the reader, if interested in the 



WIVES. 83 

fate of Absteinia by the preceding extracts, to say, that 
she was restored to the arms and affections of her hus- 
band, rendered fonder than ever, by that disposition in 
every good heart to atone for past injustice, by an over- 
flowing measure of returning kindness : 

" Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms ; I am now 
Confirmed past all suspicion ; thou art far 
Sweeter in thy sincere truth than a sacrifice 
Deck'd up for death with garlands. The Indian winds 
That blow from off the coast, and cheer the sailor 
"With the sweet savor of their spices, want 
The delight flows in thee." 

I have been more affected and interested by this lit- 
tle dramatic picture than by many a popular love-tale ; 
though, as I said before, I do not think it likely either 
Abstemia or patient Grizzle stands much chance of being 
taken for a model. Still I like to see poetry now and 
then extending its views beyond the wedding-day, and 
teaching a lady how to make herself attractive even after 
marriage. There is no great need of enforcing on an 
unmarried lady the necessity of being agreeable ; nor is 
there any great art requisite in a youthful beauty to ena- 
ble her to please. Nature has multiplied attractions 
around her. Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness 
of budding beauty needs no foreign aid to set it off; it 
pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, and 
beautiful. But it is for the married state that a woman 
needs the most instruction, and in which she should be 



84 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

most on her guard to maintain her powers of pleasing. 
No woman can expect to be to her husband all that 
he fancied her when he was a lover. Men are always 
doomed to be duped, not so much by the arts of the sex 
as by their own imaginations. They are always wooing 
goddesses, and marrying mere mortals. A woman should 
therefore ascertain what was the charm which rendered 
her so fascinating when a girl, and endeavor to keep it 
up when she has become a wife. One great thing un- 
doubtedly was, the chariness of herself and her conduct, 
which an unmarried female always observes. She should 
maintain the same niceness and reserve in her person 
and habits, and endeavor still to preserve a freshness 
and virgin delicacy in the eye of her husband. She 
should remember that the province of woman is to be 
wooed, not to woo ; to be caressed, not to caress. Man 
is an ungrateful being in love ; bounty loses instead of 
winning him. The secret of a woman's power does not 
consist so much in giving as in withholding. A woman 
may give up too much even to her husband. It is to a 
thousand little delicacies of conduct that she must trust 
to keep alive passion, and to protect herself from that 
dangerous familiarity, that thorough acquaintance with 
every weakness and imperfection incident to matrimony. 
By these means she may still maintain her power, though 
she has surrendered her person, and may continue the 
romance of love even beyond the honey-moon. 

" She that hath a wise husband," says Jeremy Taylor, 



wirus. 85 

" must entice him to an eternal dearnesse by the veil of 
modesty, and the grave robes of chastity, the ornament 
of meeknesse, and the jewels of faith and charity. She 
must have no painting but blushings; her brightness 
must be purity, and she must shine round about with 
sweetnesses and friendship; and she shall be pleasant 
while she lives, and desired when she dies." 

I have wandered into a rambling series of remarks on 
a trite subject, and a dangerous one for a bachelor to 
meddle with. That I may not, however, appear to con- 
fine my observations entirely to the wife, I will conclude 
with another quotation from Jeremy Taylor, in which the 
duties of both parties are mentioned; while I would 
recommend his sermon on the marriage ring to all those 
who, wiser than myself, are about entering the happy 
state of wedlock. 

"There is scarce any matter of duty but it concerns 
them both alike, and is only distinguished by names, and 
hath its variety by circumstances and little accidents : and 
what in one is called love, in the other is called rever- 
ence ; and what in the wife is obedience, the same in the 
man is duty. He provides, and she dispenses ; he gives 
commandments, and she rules by them ; he rules her by 
authority, and she rules him by love ; she ought by all 
means to please him, and he must by no means displease 
her." 



STOKY-TELLING. 



FAVOEITE evening pastime at the Hall, and 
one wliicli the worthy Squire is fond of pro- 
moting, is story-telling, " a good old-fashioned 
fireside amusement," as he terms it. Indeed, I believe 
he promotes it chiefly because it was one of the choice 
recreations in those days of yore when ladies and gentle- 
men were not much in the habit of reading. Be this as 
it may, he will often, at supper-table, when conversation 
flags, call on some one or other of the company for a 
story, as it was formerly the custom to call for a song ; 
and it is edifying to see the exemplary patience, and even 
satisfaction, with which the good old gentleman will sit 
and listen to some hackneyed tale that he has heard for 
at least a hundred times. 

In this way one evening the current of anecdotes and 
stories ran upon mysterious personages that have figured 
at different times, and filled the world with doubts and 
conjecture ; such as the Wandering Jew, the Man with 
the Iron Mask, who tormented the curiosity of all 
Europe ; the Invisible Girl, and last, though not least, 
the Pig-faced Lady. 

At length one of the company was called upon who 



STORY-TELLING. 87 

had the most unpromising physiognomy for a story-teller 
that ever I had seen. He was a thin, pale, weazen- 
faced man, extremely nervous, who had sat at one corner 
of the table, shrunk up, as it were, into himself, and 
almost swallowed up in the cape of his coat, as a turtle 
in its shell. 

The very demand seemed to throw him into a nervous 
agitation, yet he did not refuse. He emerged his head 
out of his shell, made a few odd grimaces and gesticula- 
tions, before he could get his muscles into order, or his 
voice under command, and then offered to give some ac- 
count of a mysterious personage whom he had recently 
encountered in the course of his travels, and one whom 
he thought fully entitled of being classed with the Man 
with the Iron Mask. 

I was so much struck with his extraordinary narrative, 
that I have written it out to the best of my recollection, 
for the amusement of the reader. I think it has in it all 
the elements of that mysterious and romantic narrative 
so greedily sought after at the present day. 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 

A STAGE-COACH ROMANCE. 

I'll cross it though it blast me ! 

Hamlet. 

T was a rainy Sunday in the gloomy montli of 
November. I had been detained, in the course 
of a journey, by a slight indisposition, from 
which I was recovering; but was still feverish, and 
obliged to keep within doors all day, in an inn of the 
small town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn !— 
whoever has had the luck to experience one can alone 
judge of my situation. The rain pattered against the 
casements ; the bells tolled for church with a melancholy 
sound. I went to the windows in quest of something to 
amuse the eye ; but it seemed as if I had been placed 
completely out of the reach of all amusement. The win- 
dows of my bedroom looked out among tiled roofs and 
stacks of chimneys, while those of my sitting-room com- 
manded a full view of the stable-yard. I know of nothing 
more calculated to make a man sick of this world than a 
stable-yard on a rainy day. The place was littered with 
wet straw that had been kicked about by travellers and 




^n^a) 



}XMa^.M...M.. 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 89 

stable-boys. In one corner was a stagnant pool of water, 
surrounding an island of muck ; there were several half- 
drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, among 
which was a miserable, crestfallen cock, drenched out of 
all life and spirit ; his drooping tail matted, as it were, 
into a single feather, along which the water trickled from 
his back ; near the cart was a half-dozing cow, chewing 
the cud, and standing patiently to be rained on, with 
wreaths of vapor rising from her reeking hide ; a wall- 
eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was pok- 
ing his spectral head out of a window, with the rain drip- 
ping on it from the eaves ; an unhappy cur, chained to a 
dog-house hard by, uttered something, every now and 
then, between a bark and a yelp ; a drab of a kitchen- 
wench tramped backwards and forwards through the yard 
in pattens, looking as sulky as the weather itself ; every- 
thing, in short, was comfortless and forlorn, excepting a 
crew of hardened ducks, assembled like boon companions 
round a puddle, and making a riotous noise over their 
liquor. 

I was lonely and listless, and wanted amusement. My 
room soon became insupportable. I abandoned it, and 
sought what is technically called the travellers'-room. 
This is a public room set apart at most inns for the ac- 
commodation of a class of wayfarers called travellers, or 
riders ; a kind of commercial knights-errant, who are 
incessantly scouring the kingdom in gigs, on horseback, 
or by coach. They are the only successors that I know 



90 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. 

of at the present day to tlie kniglits-errant of yore. 
They lead the same kind of roving, adventurous life, 
only changing the lance for a driving-whip, the buckler 
for a pattern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper 
Benjamin. Instead of vindicating the charms of peerless 
beauty, they rove about, spreading the fame and standing 
of some substantial tradesman, or manufacturer, and are 
ready at any time to bargain in his name ; it being the 
fashion nowadays to trade, instead of fight, with one 
another. As the room of the hostel, in the good old 
fighting-times, would be hung round at night with the 
armor of way-worn warriors, such as coats of mail, fal- 
chions, and yawning helmets, so the travellers'-room is 
garnished with the harnessing of their successors, with 
box-coats, whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and oil-cloth 
covered hats. 

I was in hopes of finding some of these worthies to 
talk with, but was disappointed. There were, indeed, 
two or three in the room ; but I could make nothing of 
them. One was just finishing his breakfast, quarrelling 
with his bread and butter, and huffing the waiter; an- 
other buttoned on a pair of gaiters, with 'many execra- 
tions at Boots for not having cleaned his shoes well ; a 
third sat drumming on the table with his fingers and 
looking at the rain as it streamed down the window- 
glass; they all appeared infected by the weather, and 
disappeared, one after the other, without exchanging a 
word. 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 91 

I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at the 
people, picking their way to church, with petticoats 
hoisted midleg high, and dripping umbrellas. The bell 
ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. I then 
amused myself with watching the daughters of a trades- 
man opposite ; who, being confined to the house for fear 
of wetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms 
at the front windows, to fascinate the chance tenants of 
the inn. They at length were summoned away by a vigi- 
lant vinegar-faced mother, and I had nothing further 
from without to amuse me. 

What was I to do to pass away the long-lived day? 
I was sadly nervous and lonely ; and everything about 
an inn seems calculated to make a dull day ten times 
duller. Old newspapers, smelling of beer and tobacco- 
smoke, and which I had already read half a dozen times. 
Good-for-nothing books, that were worse than rainy 
weather. I bored myself to death with an old volume 
of the Lady's Magazine. I read all the commonplace 
names of ambitious travellers scrawled on the panes of 
glass ; the eternal families of the Smiths, and the Browns, 
and the Jacksons, and the Johnsons, and all the other 
sons ; and I deciphered several scraps of fatiguing inn- 
window poetry which I have met with in all parts of the 
world. 

The day continued lowering and gloomy ; the slovenly, 
ragged, spongy cloud drifted heavily along ; there was 
no variety even in the rain : it was one dull, continued. 



92 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

monotonous patter — patter — patter, excepting that now 
and then I was enlivened by the idea of a brisk shower, 
from the rattling of the drops upon a passing umbrella. 

It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a hack- 
neyed phrase of the day) when, in the course of the 
morning, a horn blew, and a stage-coach whirled through 
the street, with outside passengers stuck all over it, 
cowering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed together, 
and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats and upper 
Benjamins. 

The sound brought out from their lurking-places a 
crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and the 
carroty -headed hostler, and that nondescript animal 
ycleped Boots, and all the other vagabond race that in- 
fest the purlieus of an inn ; but the bustle was transient ; 
the coach again whirled on its way ; and boy and dog, 
and hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to their 
holes ; the street again became silent, and the rain con- 
tinued to rain on. In fact, there was no hope of its 
clearing up; the barometer pointed to rainy weather; 
mine hostess's tortoise-shell cat sat by the fire washing 
her face, and rubbing her paws over her ears ; and, on 
referring to the Almanac, I found a direful prediction 
stretching from the top of the page to the bottom 
through the whole month, " expect — much — rain — about 
— this — time ! " 

I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as if they 
would never creep by. The very ticking of the clock 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 93 

became irksome. At length the stillness of the house 
was interrupted by the ringing of a bell. Shortly after 
I heard the voice of a waiter at the bar : " The stout 
gentleman in No. 13 wants his breakfast. Tea and 
bread and butter, with ham and eggs; the eggs not to 
be too much done." 

In such a situation as mine, every incident is of im- 
portance. Here was a subject of speculation presented to 
my mind, and ample exercise for my imagination. I am 
prone to paint pictures to myself, and on this occasion I 
had some materials to work upon. Had the guest up- 
stairs been mentioned as Mr. Smith, or Mr. Brown, or 
Mr. Jackson, or Mr. Johnson, or merely as " the gentle- 
man in No. 13," it would have been a perfect blank to 
me. I should have thought nothing of it ; but " The 
stout gentleman ! " — the very name had something in it 
of the picturesque. It at once gave the size ; it embodied 
the personage to my mind's eye, and my fancy did the 
rest. 

He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty ; in all proba- 
bility, therefore, he was advanced in life, some people 
expanding as they grow old. By his breakfasting rather 
late, and in his own room, he must be a man accus- 
tomed to live at his ease, and above the necessity of early 
rising ; no doubt a round, rosy, lusty old gentleman. 

There was another violent ringing. The stout gentle- 
man was impatient for his breakfast. He was evidently a 
man of importance; "well to do in the world;" accus- 



94 BRAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

tomed to be promptly waited upon ; of a keen appetite, 
and a little cross wlien hungry ; " perhaps," thought I, 
"he may be some London Alderman ; or who knows but 
he may be a Member of Parliament ? " 

The breakfast was sent up, and there was a short inter- 
val of silence ; he was, doubtless, making the tea. Pres- 
ently there was a violent ringing ; and before it could be 
answered, another ringing still more violent. " Bless 
me ! what a choleric old gentleman ! " The waiter came 
down in a huff. The butter was rancid, the eggs were 
overdone, the ham was too salt ; — the stout gentleman 
was evidently nice in his eating ; one of those who eat 
and growl, and keep the waiter on the trot, and live in a 
state militant with the household. 

The hostess got into a fume. I should observe that 
she was a brisk, coquettish woman ; a little of a shrew, 
and something of a slammerkin, but very pretty withal ; 
with a nincompoop for a husband, as shrews are apt to 
have. She rated the servants roundly for their negli- 
gence in sending up so bad a breakfast, but said not a 
word against the stout gentleman; by which I clearly 
perceived that he must be a man of consequence, entitled 
to make a noise and to give trouble at a country inn. 
Other eggs, and ham, and bread and butter were sent up. 
They appeared to be more graciously received ; at least 
there was no further complaint. 

I had not made many turns about the travellers'-room, 
when there was another ringing. Shortly afterwards 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 95 

there was a stir and an inquest about the house. The 
stout gentleman wanted the Times or the Chronicle 
newspaper. I set him down, therefore, for a "Whig; or 
rather, from his being so absolute and lordly where 
he had a chance, I suspected him of being a Eadical. 
Hunt, I had heard, was a large man; "who knows," 
thought I, "but it is Hunt himself! " 

My curiosity began to be awakened. I inquired of the 
waiter who was this stout gentleman that was making all 
this stir ; but I could get no information : nobody seemed 
to know his name. The landlords of bustling inns seldom 
trouble their heads about the names or occupations of 
their transient guests. The color of a coat, the shape or 
size of the person, is enough to suggest a travelling name. 
It is either the tall gentleman, or the short gentleman, or 
the gentleman in black, or the gentleman in snuff-color ; 
or, as in the present instance, the stout gentleman. A 
designation of the kind once hit on, answers every pur- 
pose, and saves all further inquiry. 

Eain— rain— rain ! pitiless, ceaseless rain! No such 
thing as putting a foot out of doors, and no occupation 
nor amusement within. By and by I heard some one 
walking overhead. It was in the stout gentleman's room. 
He evidently was a large man by the heaviness of his 
tread; and an old man from his wearing such creaking 
soles. "He is doubtless," thought I, "some rich old 
square-toes of regular habits, and is now taking exercise 
after breakfast." 



96 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

I now read all the advertisements of coaches and ho- 
tels that were stuck about the mantelpiece. The Lady's 
Magazine had become an abomination to me ; it was as 
tedious as the day itself. I wandered out, not knowing 
what to do, and ascended again to my room. I had not 
been there long, when there was a squall from a neigh- 
boring bedroom. A door opened and slammed violently ; 
a chamber-maid, that I had remarked for having a ruddy, 
good-humored face, went down stairs in a violent flurry. 
The stout gentleman had been rude to her ! 

This sent a whole host of my deductions to the deuce 
in a moment. This unknown personage could not be an 
old gentleman ; for old gentlemen are not apt to be so 
obstreperous to chamber-maids. He could not be a 
young gentleman; for young gentlemen are not apt to 
inspire such indignation. He must be a middle-aged 
man, and confounded ugly into the bargain, or the girl 
would not have taken the matter in such terrible dud- 
geon. I confess I was sorely puzzled. 

In a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady. I 
caught a glance of her as she came tramping up-stairs, — 
her face glowing, her cap flaring, her tongue wagging the 
whole way. " She'd have no such doings in her house, 
she'd warrant. If gentlemen did spend money freely, it 
was no rule. She'd have no servant-maids of hers treated 
in that way, when they were about their work, that's what 
she wouldn't." 

As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, and 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. ' 97 

above all with pretty women, I slunk back into my room, 
and partly closed the door; but my curiosity was too 
much excited not to listen. The landlady marched in- 
trepidly to the enemy's citadel, and entered it with a 
storm : the door closed after her. I heard her voice in 
high windy clamor for a moment or two. Then it grad- 
ually subsided, like a gust of wind in a garret ; then there 
was a laugh ; then I heard nothing more. 

After a little while my landlady came out with an odd 
smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which was a little 
on one side. As she went down stairs, I heard the land- 
lord ask her what was the matter ; she said, "Nothing at 
all, only the girl's a fool."— I was more than ever per- 
plexed what to make of this unaccountable personage, 
who could put a good-natured chamber-maid in a pas- 
sion, and send away a termagant landlady in smiles. He 
could not be so old, nor cross, nor ugly either. 

I had to go to work at his picture again, and to paint 
him entirely different. I now set him down for one of 
those stout gentlemen that are frequently met with 
swaggering about the doors of country inns. Moist, 
merry fellows, in Belcher handkerchiefs, whose bulk is a 
little assisted by malt-liquors. Men who have seen the 
world, and been sworn at Highgate ; who are used to tav- 
ern-life ; up to all the tricks of tapsters, and knowing in 
the ways of sinful publicans. Free-livers on a small 
scale ; who are prodigal within the compass of a guinea : 
who call all the waiters by name, tousle the maids, gossip 
7 



98 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

•with tlie landlady at tlie bar, and prose over a pint of 
port, or a glass of negus, after dinner. 

TLe morning wore away in forming these and similar 
surmises. As fast as I wove one system of belief, some 
movement of the unknown would completely overturn it, 
and throw all my thoughts again into confusion. Such 
are the solitary operations of a feverish mind. I was, as 
I have said, extremely nervous ; and the continual medita- 
tion on the concerns of this invisible personage began to 
have its effect : — ^I was getting a fit of the fidgets. 

Dinner-time came. I hoped the stout gentleman 
might dine in the travellers'-room, and that I might at 
length get a view of his person; but no — he had 
dinner served in his own room. What could be the 
meaning of this solitude and mystery ? He could not be 
a radical ; there was something too aristocratical in thus 
keeping himself apart from the rest of the world, and 
condemning himself to his own dull company throughout 
a rainy day. And then, too, he lived too well for a dis- 
contented politician. He seemed to expatiate on a 
variety of dishes, and to sit over his wine like a jolly 
friend of good living. Indeed, my doubts on this head 
were soon at an end ; for he could not have finished his 
first bottle before I could faintly hear him humming a 
tune ; and on listening I found it to be " God save the 
King." 'Twas plain, then, he was no radical, but a 
faithful subject ; one who grew loyal over his bottle, and 
was ready to stand by king and constitution, when he 



THE STOUT QEWTLEMAN. 99 

could stand bj notliing else. But who could lie be? My 
conjectures began to run wild. "Was lie not some person- 
age of distinction travelling incog. ? " God knows ! " said 
I, at my wit's end; " it may be one of tlie royal family for 
aught I know, for they are all stout gentlemen ! " 

The weather continued rainy. The mysterious un- 
known kept his room, and, as far as I could judge, his 
chair, for I did not hear him move. In the meantime, as 
the day advanced, the travellers'-room began to be fre- 
quented. Some, who had just arrived, came in buttoned 
up in box-coats ; others came home who had been dis- 
persed about the town; some took their dinners, and 
some their tea. Had I been in a different mood, I 
should have found entertainment in studying this pecu- 
liar class of men. There were two especially, who were 
regular wags of the road, and up to all the standing jokes 
of travellers. They had a thousand sly things to say to 
the waiting-maid, whom they called Louisa, and Ethel- 
inda, and a dozen other fine names, changing the name 
every time, and chuckling amazingly at their own 
waggery. My mind, however, had been completely en- 
grossed by the stout gentleman. He had kept my fancy 
in chase during a long day, and it was not now to be di- 
verted from the scent. 

The evening gradually wore away. The travellers read 
the papers two or three times over. Some drew round 
the fire and told long stories about their horses, about 
their adventures, their overturns, and breakings-down. 



100 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

They discussed tlie credit of diJBferent merchants and dif- 
ferent inns ; and the two wags told several choice anec- 
dotes of pretty chamber-maids and kind landladies. All 
this passed as they were quietly taking what they called 
their night-caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy 
and water and sugar, or some other mixture of the kind ; 
after which they one after another rang for " Boots " and 
the chamber-maid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut 
down into marvellously uncomfortable slippers. 

There was now only one man left : a short-legged, long- 
bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very large, sandy head. 
He sat by himself, with a glass of port- wine negus, and a 
spoon ; sipping and stirring, and meditating and sipping, 
until nothing was left but the spoon. He gradually fell 
asleep bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass 
standing before him ; and the candle seemed to fall asleep 
too, for the wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at 
the end, and dimmed the little light that remained in the 
chamber. The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. 
Around hung the shapeless, and almost spectral, box- 
coats of departed travellers, long since buried in deep 
sleep. I only heard the ticking of the clock, with the 
deep-drawn breathings of the sleeping topers, and the 
drippings of the rain, drop — drop — drop, from the eaves 
of the house. The church-bells chimed midnight. All 
at once the stout gentleman began to walk overhead, pac- 
ing slowly backwards and forwards. There was some- 
thing extremely awful in all this, especially to one in my 



THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. IQl 

state of nerves. These ghastly great-coats, these guttural 
breathings, and the creaking footsteps of this mysterious 
being. His steps grew fainter and fainter, and at length 
died away. I could bear it no longer. I was wound up 
to the desperation of a hero of romance. " Be he who or 
what he may," said I to myself, "I'll have a sight of 
him ! " I seized a chamber-candle, and hurried up to 
No. 13. The door stood ajar. I hesitated — I entered : 
the room was deserted. There stood a large, broad-bot- 
tomed elbow-chair at a table, on which was an empty 
tumbler, and a " Times," newspaper, and the room smelt 
powerfully of Stilton cheese. 

The mysterious stranger had evidently but just retired. 
I turned off, sorely disappointed, to my room, which had 
been changed to the front of the house. As I went along 
the corridor, I saw a large pair of boots, with dirty, 
waxed tops, standing at the door of a bedchamber. 
They doubtless belonged to the unknown ; but it would 
not do to disturb so redoubtable a personage in his den : 
he might discharge a pistol, or something worse, at my 
head. 1 went to bed, therefore, and lay awake half the 
night in a terribly nervous state ; and even when I fell 
asleep, I was still haunted in my dreams by the idea of 
the stout gentleman and his wax-topped boots. 

I slept rather late the next morning, and was awakened 
by some stir and bustle in the house, which I could not 
at first comprehend ; until getting more awake, I found 
there was a mail-coach starting from the door. Suddenly 



102 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

there was a cry from below, " Tlie gentleman has forgot 
his umbrella ! Look for the gentleman's umbrella in No. 
13 ! " I heard an immediate scampering of a chamber- 
maid along the passage, and a shrill reply as she ran, 
"Here it is! here's the gentleman's umbrella! " 

The mysterious stranger then was on the point of set- 
ting off. This was the only chance I should ever have of 
knowing him. I sprang out of bed, scrambled to the win- 
dow, snatched aside the curtains, and just caught a 
glimpse of the rear of a person getting in at the coach- 
door. The skirts of a brown coat parted behind, and 
gave me a full view of the broad disk of a pair of drab 
breeches. The door closed — " all right ! " was the word 
— the coach whirled off; — and that was all I ever saw of 
the stout gentleman ! 



FOEEST TREES. 

" A living gallery of aged trees." 



KE of tlie favorite themes of boasting with the 
Squire is the noble trees on his estate, which, in 
truth, has some of the finest I have seen in 



England. There is something august and solemn in the 
great avenues of stately oaks that gather their branches 
together high in air, and seem to reduce the pedestrians 
beneath them to mere pigmies. " An avenue of oaks or 
elms," the Squire observes, " is the true colonnade that 
should lead to a gentleman's house. As to stone and 
marble, any one can rear them at once, they are the work 
of the day ; but commend me to the colonnades which 
have grown old and great with the family, and tell by 
their grandeur how long the family has endured." 

The Squire has great reverence for certain venerable 
trees, gray with moss, which he considers as the ancient 
nobility of his domain. There is the ruin of an enormous 
oak, which has been so much battered by time and tem- 
pest, that scarce anything is left ; though he says Christy 
recollects when, in his boyhood, it was healthy and flour- 
ishing, until it was struck by lightning. It is now a mere 

103 



104 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

trunk, with one twisted bough stretching up into the air, 
leaving a green branch at the end of it. This sturdy 
wreck is much valued by the Squire ; he calls it his 
standard-bearer, and compares it to a veteran warrior 
beaten down in battle, but bearing up his banner to the 
last. He has actually had a fence built round it, to pro- 
tect it as much as possible from further injury. 

It is with great difficulty he can ever be brought to 
have any tree cut down on his estate. To some he looks 
with reverence, as having been planted by his ancestors ; 
to others with a kind of paternal affection, as having been 
planted by himself ; and he feels a degree of awe in bring- 
ing down, with a few strokes of the axe, what it has cost 
centuries to build up. I confess I cannot but sympathize, 
in some degree, with the good Squire on the subject. 
Though brought up in a country overrun with forests, 
where trees are apt to be considered mere incumbrances, 
and to be laid low without hesitation or remorse, yet I 
could never see a fine tree hewn down without concern. 
The poets, who are naturally lovers of trees, as they are 
of everything that is beautiful, have artfully awakened 
great interest in their favor, by representing them as the 
habitations of sylvan deities ; insomuch that every great 
tree had its tutelar genius, or a nymph, whose existence 
was limited to its duration. Evelyn, in his " Sylva," 
makes several pleasing and fanciful allusions to this 
superstition. " As the fall," says he, " of a very aged oak, 
giving a crack like thunder, has often been heard at many 



FOBEST TBEE8. 105 

miles' distance ; constrained though. I often am to fell 
them with reluctance, I do not at any time remember to 
have heard the groans of those nymphs (grieving to be 
dispossessed of their ancient habitations) without some 
emotion and pity." And again, in alluding to a violent 
storm that had devastated the woodlands, he says, " Me- 
thinks I still hear, sure I am that I still feel, the dismal 
groans of our forests ; the late dreadful hurricane having 
subverted so many thousands of goodly oaks, prostrating 
the trees, laying them in ghastly postures, like whole 
regiments fallen in battle by the sword of the conqueror, 
and crushing all that grew beneath them. The public 
accounts," he adds, " reckon no less than three thousand 
hrave oaks in one part only of the forest of Dean blown 
down." 

I have paused more than once in the wilderness of 
America, to contemplate the traces of some blast of wind, 
which seemed to have rushed down from the clouds, and 
ripped its way through the bosom of the woodlands; 
rooting up, shivering, and splintering the stoutest trees, 
and leaving a long track of desolation. There was some- 
thing awful in the vast havoc made among these gigan- 
tic plants ; and in considering their magnificent remains, 
so rudely torn and mangled, and hurled down to perish 
prematurely on their native soil, I was conscious of a 
strong movement of the sympathy so feelingly expressed 
by Evelyn. I recollect, also, hearing a traveller of poeti- 
cal temperament expressing the kind of horror which he 



106 BBAGEBBIDOE HALL. 

felt on beholding, on the banks of the Missouri, an oak of 
prodigious size, which had been, in a manner, overpow- 
ered by an enormous wild grapevine. The vine had 
clasped its huge folds round the trunk, and thence had 
wound about every branch and twig, until the mighty 
tree had withered in its embrace. It seemed like Lao- 
coon struggling ineffectually in the hideous coils of the 
monster Python. It was the lion of trees perishing in 
the embraces of a vegetable boa. 

I am fond of listening to the conversation of English 
gentlemen on rural concerns, and of noticing with what 
taste and discrimination, and what strong, unaffected in- 
terest they will discuss topics which, in other countries, 
are abandoned to mere woodmen, or rustic cultivators. 
I have heard a noble earl descant on park and forest 
scenery with the science and feeling of a painter. He 
dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular trees on his 
estate, with as much pride and technical precision as 
though he had been discussing the merits of statues in 
his collection. I found that he had even gone consid- 
erable distances to examine trees which were celebrated 
among rural amateurs ; for it seems that trees, like 
horses, have their established points of excellence ; and 
that there are some in England which enjoy very exten- 
sive celebrity among tree-fanciers from being perfect in 
their kind. 

There is something nobly simple and pure in such a 
taste : it argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature, to 



FOREST TREES. 107 

have this strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and 
this friendship for the hardy and glorious sons of the 
forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with 
this part of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the 
figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of 
liberal, and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who plants 
an oak, looks forward to future ages, and plants for pos- 
terity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannot 
expect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter ; but he 
exults in the idea that the acorn which he has buried in 
the earth will grow up into a lofty pile, and keep on 
flourishing, and increasing, and benefiting mankind, long 
after he shall have ceased to tread his paternal fields. 
Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations to lift the 
thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees 
are said to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and to 
breathe forth a purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as 
if they drew from us all sordid and angry passions, and 
breathed forth peace and philanthropy. There is a 
serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery that en- 
ters into the soul, and dilates and elevates it, and fills 
it with noble inclinations. The ancient and hereditary 
groves, too, which embower this island, are most of them 
full of story. They are haunted by the recollections of 
great spirits of past ages, who have sought for relaxation 
among them from the tumult of arms, or the toils of state, 
or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. Who can 
walk, with soul unmoved, among the stately groves of 



108 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

Pensliurst, where the gallant, the amiable, the elegant 
Sir Philip Sidney passed his boyhood ; or can look with- 
out fondness upon the tree that is said to have been 
planted on his birthday ; or can ramble among the classic 
bowers of Hagley; or can pause among the solitudes 
of Windsor Forest and look at the oaks around, huge, 
gray, and time-worn, like the old castle-towers, and not 
feel as if he were surrounded by so many monuments of 
long-enduring glory? It is, when viewed in this light, 
that planted groves, and stately avenues, and cultivated 
parks, have an advantage over the more luxuriant beau- 
ties of unassisted nature. It is then they teem with 
moral associations, and keep up the ever-interesting 
story of human existence. 

It is incumbent, then, on the high and generous spirits 
of an ancient nation, to cherish these sacred groves which 
surround their ancestral mansions, and to perpetuate 
them to their descendants. Eepublican as I am by birth, 
and brought up as I have been in republican principles 
and habits, I can feel nothing of the servile reverence for 
titled rank, merely because it is titled ; but I trust that I 
am neither churl nor bigot in my creed. I can both see 
and feel how hereditary distinction, when it falls to the 
lot of a generous mind, may elevate that mind into true 
nobility. It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when 
it falls thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as 
it were, extends the existence of the possessor. He does 
not feel himself a mere individual link in creation, re- 



F0BE8T TEEE8. 109 

sponsible only for his own brief term of being. He car- 
ries back his existence in proud recollection, and he ex- 
tends it forward in honorable anticipation. He lives with 
his ancestry, and he lives with his posterity. To both 
does he consider himself involved in deep responsibili- 
ties. As he has received much from those who have gone 
before, so he feels bound to transmit much to those who 
are to come after him. His domestic undertakings seem 
to imply a longer existence than those of ordinary men ; 
none are so apt to build and plant for future centuries as 
those noble-spirited men who have received their heri- 
tages from foregone ages. 

I cannot but applaud, therefore, the fondness and pride 
with which I have noticed English gentlemen, of gener- 
ous temperaments and high aristocratic feelings, contem- 
plating those magnificent trees, rising like towers and 
pyramids from the midst of their paternal lands. There 
is an affinity between all nature, animate and inanimate : 
the oak, in the pride and lustihood of its growth, seems 
to me to take its range with the lion and the eagle, and 
to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic 
and intellectual man. With its mighty pillar rising 
straight and direct towards heaven, bearing up its leafy 
honors from the impurities of earth, and supporting them 
aloft in free air and glorious sunshine, it is an emblem of 
what a true nobleman sliould he : a refuge for the weak, a 
shelter for the oppressed, a defence for the defenceless ; 
warding off from them the peltings of the storm, or the 



110 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

scorcliing rays of arbitrary power. He wlio is this, is an 
ornament and a blessing to his native land. He who is 
otherwise, abuses his eminent advantages; abuses the 
grandeur and prosperity which he has drawn from the 
bosom of his country. Should tempests arise, and he be 
laid prostrate by the storm, who would mourn over his 
fall ? Should he be borne down by the oppressive hand 
of power, who would murmur at his fate? — "Why cum- 
bereth he the ground ? " 



A LITEKAEY ANTIQUAEY. 

Printed bookes he contemnes, as a novelty of this latter age ; but a manu- 
script he pores on everiastingly ; especially if the cover be all moth-eaten, and 
the dust make a parenthesis betweene every syllable. 

MiCO-COSMOGBAPHIE, 1628, 

^^;HE Squire receives great sympathy and sup- 
^^M P^^*' i^ ^is antiquated humors, from the par- 
^^^^^■| son, of whom I made some mention on my for- 
mer visit to the Hall, and who acts as a kind of family 
chaplain. He has been cherished by the Squire almost 
constantly since the time that they were fellow-students 
at Oxford ; for it is one of the peculiar advantages of 
these great universities, that they often link the poor 
scholar to the rich patron by early and heartfelt ties, 
which last through life, without the usual humiliations of 
dependence and patronage. Under the fostering protec- 
tion of the Squire, therefore, the little parson has pursued 
his studies in peace. Having lived almost entirely among 
books, and those, too, old books, he is quite ignorant of 
the world, and his mind is as antiquated as the garden at 
the Hall, where the flowers are all arranged in formal 
beds, and the yew-trees clipped into urns and peacocks. 

His taste for literary antiquities was first imbibed in 
the Bodleian Library at Oxford ; where, when a student, 

111 



112 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

lie passed many an hour foraging among the old manu- 
scripts. He has since, at different times, visited most of 
the curious libraries in England, and has ransacked many 
of the cathedrals. With all his quaint and curious learn- 
ing, he has nothing of arrogance or pedantry, but that 
unaffected earnestness and guileless simplicity which 
seems to belong to the literary antiquary. 

He is a dark, mouldy little man, and rather dry in his 
manner ; yet, on his favorite theme, he kindles up, and at 
times is even eloquent. No fox-hunter, recounting his 
last day's sport, could be more animated than I have 
seen the worthy parson, when relating his search after a 
curious document, which he had traced from library to 
library, until he fairly unearthed it in the dusty chapter- 
house of a cathedral. When, too, he describes some ven- 
erable manuscript, with its rich illuminations, its thick 
creamy vellum, its glossy ink, and the odor of the clois- 
ters that seemed to exhale from it, he rivals the enthusi- 
asm of a Parisian epicure expatiating on the merits of a 
Perigord pie, or a Pate de Strasbourg. 

His brain seems absolutely haunted with love-sick 
dreams about gorgeous old works in " silk linings, tri- 
pled gold bands, and tinted leather, locked up in wire 
cases, and secured from the vulgar hands of the mere 
reader," and, to continue the happy expressions of an in- 
genious writer, " dazzling one's eyes like eastern beauties 
peering through their jalousies." * 

* D'Israeli. Curiosities of Literature. 



A LITEBABT ANTIQUABY. II3 

He has a great desire, however, to read such works in 
the old libraries and chapter-houses to which they be- 
long; for he thinks a black-letter volume reads best in 
one of those venerable chambers where the lisht struct- 
gles through dusty lancet windows and painted glass; 
and that it loses half its zest if taken away from the 
neighborhood of the quaintly carved oaken bookcase and 
Gothic reading-desk. At his suggestion the Squire has 
had the library furnished in this antique taste, and sev- 
eral of the windows glazed with painted glass, that they 
may throw a properly tempered light upon the pages of 
their favorite old authors. 

The parson, I am told, has been for some time med- 
itating a commentary on Strutt, Brand, and Douce, in 
which he means to detect them in sundry dangerous 
errors in respect to popular games and superstitions ; a 
work to which the Squire looks forward with great inter- 
est. He is, also, a casual contributor to that long-estab- 
lished repository of national customs and antiquities, the 
" Gentleman's Magazine," and is one of those who every 
now and then make an inquiry concerning some obsolete 
custom or rare legend ; nay, it is said that some of his 
communications have been at least six inches in length. 
He frequently receives parcels by coach from different 
parts of the kingdom, containing mouldy volumes and 
almost illegible manuscripts ; for it is singular what an 
active correspondence is kept up among literary anti- 
quaries, and how soon the fame of any rare volume, or 



8 



114 BBACEBEIDGE HALL. 

unique copy, just discovered among the rubbisli of a 
library, is circulated among them. The parson is more 
busy than common just now, being a little flurried by an 
advertisement of a work, said to be preparing for the 
press, on the mythology of the middle ages. The little 
man has long been gathering together all the hobgoblin 
tales he could collect, illustrative of the superstitions of 
former times; and he is in a complete fever, lest this 
formidable rival should take the field before him. 

Shortly after my arrival at the Hall, I called at the 
parsonage, in company with Mr. Bracebridge and the 
general. The parson had not been seen for several days, 
which was a matter of some surprise, as he was an 
almost daily visitor at the Hall. We found him in his 
study : a small dusky chamber, lighted by a lattice-win- 
dow that looked into the church-yard, and was overshad- 
owed by a yew-tree. His chair was surrounded by folios 
and quartos, piled upon the floor, and his table was cov- 
ered with books and manuscripts. The cause of his 
seclusion was a work which he had recently received, and 
with which he had retired in rapture from the world, and 
shut himself up to enjoy a literary honeymoon undis- 
turbed. Never did boarding-school girl devour the 
pages of a sentimental novel, or Don Quixote a chival- 
rous romance, with more intense delight than did the 
little man banquet on the pages of this delicious work. 
It was Dibdin's "Bibliographical Tour," a work calcu- 
lated to have as intoxicating an effect on the imaginations 



A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 115 

of literary antiquaries as tlie adventures of tlie heroes of 
the round-table on all true knights, or the lales of the 
early American voyagers on the ardent spirits of the age, 
filling them with dreams of Mexican and Peruvian mines, 
and of the golden realm of El Dorado. 

The good parson had looked forward to this biblio- 
graphical expedition as of far greater importance than 
those to Africa, or the North Pole. With what eagerness 
had he seized upon the history of the enterprise ! with 
what interest had he followed the redoubtable bibliog- 
rapher and his graphical squire in their adventurous 
roamings, among Norman castles, and cathedrals, and 
French libraries, and German convents and universi- 
ties ; penetrating into the prison-houses of vellum manu- 
scripts, and exquisitely illuminated missals, and reveal- 
ing their beauties to the world ! 

When the parson had finished a rapturous eulogy on 
this most curious and entertaining work, he drew forth 
from a little drawer a manuscript, lately received from a 
correspondent, which had perplexed him sadly. It was 
written in Norman French, in very ancient characters, 
and so faded and mouldered away as to be almost illegi- 
ble. It was apparently an old Norman drinking-song, 
which might have been brought over by one of William 
the Conqueror's carousing followers. The writing was 
just legible enough to keep a keen antiquity-hunter on a 
doubtful chase ; here and there he would be completely 
thrown out, and then there would be a few words so 



116 BBACEBBIBGE HALL. 

plainly written as to put him on the scent again. In this 
way he had been led on for a whole day, until he had 
found himself completely at fault. 

The Squire endeavored to assist him, but was equally 
baffled. The old general listened for some time to the 
discussion, and then asked the parson, if he had read 
Captain Morris's, or George Stevens's, or Anacreon 
Moore's bacchanalian songs ; on the other replying in 
the negative, " Oh, then," said the general, with a saga- 
cious nod, " if you want a drinking-song, I can furnish 
you with the latest collection, — I did not know you had 
a turn for those kind of things ; and I can lend you the 
Encyclopedia of Wit into the bargain. I never travel 
without them ; they're excellent reading at an inn." 

It would not be easy to describe the odd look of sur- 
prise and perplexity of the parson, at this proposal ; or 
the difficulty the Squire had in making the general com- 
prehend, that, though a jovial song of the present day 
was but a foolish sound in the ears of wisdom, and be- 
neath the notice of a learned man, yet a trowl, written 
by a tosspot, several hundred years since, was a matter 
worthy of the gravest research, and enough to set whole 
colleges by the ears. 

I have since pondered much on this matter, and have 
figured to myself what may be the fate of our current 
literature, when retrieved, piecemeal, by future antiqua- 
ries from among the rubbish of ages. What a Magnus 
Apollo, for instance, will Moore become, among sober 



A LITEM ART AWTIQUABY. ^y 

divines and dusty schoolmen! Even liis festive and 
amatory songs, whicli are now the mere quickeners of 
our social moments, or the delights of our drawing- 
rooms, will then become matters of laborious research 
and painful collation. How many a grave professor will 
then waste his midnight oil, or worry his brain through 
a long morning, endeavoring to restore the pure text, or 
illustrate the biographical hints of " Come, tell me, says 
Rosa, as kissing and kissed ; " and how many an arid old 
bookworm, like the worthy little parson, will give up in 
despair, after vainly striving to fill up some fatal hiatus 
in "Fanny of Timmol!" 

Nor is it merely such exquisite authors as Moore that 
are doomed to consume the oil of future antiquaries. 
Many a poor scribbler, who is now,, apparently, sent to 
oblivion by pastry-cooks and cheesemongers, will then 
rise again in fragments, and flourish in learned immor- 
tality. 

After all, thought I, Time is not such an invariable 
destroyer as he is represented. If he pulls down, he 
likewise builds up ; if he impoverishes one, he enriches 
another ; his very dilapidation furnishes matter for new 
works of controversy, and his rust is more precious than 
the most costly gilding. Under his plastic hand trifles 
rise into importance ; the nonsense of one age becomes 
the wisdom of another ; the levity of the wit gravitates 
into the learning of the pedant, and an ancient farthing 
moulders into infinitely more value than a modern guinea. 



THE FAKM-HOUSE. 



■ Love and hay 



Are thick sown, but come up full of thistles. 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 

WAS SO mucli pleased with tlie anecdotes 
whicli were told me of Eeady-Money Jack Tib- 
bets, that I got Master Simon, a day or two 
since, to take me to his house. It was an old-fashioned 
farm-house, built of brick, with curiously twisted chim- 
neys. It stood at a little distance from the road, with a 
southern exposure, looking upon a soft, green slope of 
meadow. There was a small garden in front, with a row 
of beehives humming among beds of sweet herbs and 
flowers. Well-scoured milking-tubs, with bright copper 
hoops, hung on the garden paling. Fruit-trees were 
trained up against the cottage, and pots of flowers stood 
in the windows. A fat, superannuated mastiff lay in the 
sunshine at the door, with a sleek cat sleeping peace- 
fully across him. 

Mr. Tibbets was from home at the time of our calling, 
but we were received with hearty and homely welcome 
by his wife : a notable, motherly woman, and a complete 

118 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 119 

pattern for wives ; since, according to Master Simon's 
account, ste never contradicts honest Jack, and yet man- 
ages to liave her own way, and to control him in every- 
thing. 

She received us in the main room of the house, a kind 
of parlor and hall, with great brown beams of timber 
across it, which Mr. Tibbets is apt to point out with some 
exultation, observing, that they don't put such timber in 
houses nowadays. The furniture was old-fashioned, 
strong, and highly polished; the walls were hung with 
colored prints of the story of the Prodigal Son, who was 
represented in a red coat and leather breeches. Over 
the fireplace was a blunderbuss, and a hard-favored like- 
ness of Keady-Money Jack, taken, when he was a young 
man, by the same artist that painted the tavern-sign ; his 
mother having taken a notion that the Tibbets had as 
much right to have a gallery of family portraits as the 
folks at the Hall. 

The good dame pressed us very much to take some re- 
freshment, and tempted us with a variety of household 
dainties, so that we were glad to compound by tasting 
some of her home-made wines. While we were there, the 
son and heir-apparent came home : a good-looking young 
fellow, and something of a rustic beau. He took us over 
the premises, and showed us the whole establishment. 
An air of homely but substantial plenty prevailed 
throughout ; everything was of the best materials, and 
in the best condition. Nothing was out of place, or ill 



120 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

made ; and you saw everywhere the signs of a man who 
took care to have the worth of his money, and paid as he 
went. 

The farm-yard was well stocked ; under a shed was a 
taxed cart, in trim order, in which Ready-Money Jack 
took his wife about the country. His well-fed horse 
neighed from the stable, and when led out into the yard, 
to use the words of young Jack, " he shone like a bot- 
tle ; " for he said the old man made it a rule that every- 
thing about him should fare as well as he did himself. 

I was pleased to see the pride which the young fellow 
seemed to have of his father. He gave us several par- 
ticulars concerning his habits, which were pretty much 
to the effect of those I have already mentioned. He had 
never suffered an account to stand in his life, always pro- 
viding the money before he purchased anything ; and, if 
possible, paying in gold and silver. He had a great dis- 
like to paper money, and seldom went without a consid- 
erable sum in gold about him. On my observing that it 
was a wonder he had never been waylaid and robbed, 
the young fellow smiled at the idea of any one venturing 
upon such an exploit, for I believe he thinks the old man 
would be a match for Robin Hood and all his gang. 

I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes into 
any house without having a world of private talk with 
some one or other of the family, being a kind of univer- 
sal counsellor and confidant. We had not been long at 
the farm, before the old dame got him into a corner of 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 121 

her parlor, wliere they had a long whispering conference 
together ; in which I saw by his shrugs that there were 
some dubious matters discussed, and by his nods that he 
agreed with everything she said. 

After we had come out, the young man accompanied us 
a little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside 
into a green lane, they walked and talked together for 
nearly half an hour. Master Simon, who has the usual 
propensity of confidants to blab everything to the next 
friend they meet with, let me know that there was a love- 
affair in the question; the young fellow having been 
smitten with the charms of Phoebe Wilkins, the pretty 
niece of the housekeeper at the Hall. Like most other 
love-concerns, it had brought its troubles and perplexi- 
ties. Dame Tibbets had long been on intimate, gossip- 
ing terms with the housekeeper, who often visited the 
farm-house ; but when the neighbors spoke to her of the 
likelihood of a match between her son and Phoebe Wil- 
kins, " Marry come up ! " she scouted the very idea. The 
girl had acted as Lady's maid, and it was beneath the 
blood of the Tibbets, who had lived on their own lands 
time out of mind, and owed reverence and thanks to 
nobody, to have the heir-apparent marry a servant ! 

These vaporings had faithfully been carried to the 
housekeeper's ears by one of their mutual go-between 
friends. The old housekeeper's blood, if not as ancient, 
was as quick as that of Dame Tibbets. She had been 
accustomed to carry a high head at the Hall and among 



122 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

the villagers ; and her faded brocade rustled with indig- 
nation at the slight cast upon her alliance by the wife of 
a petty farmer. She maintained that her niece had been 
a companion rather than a waiting-maid to the young 
ladies. "Thank heavens, she was not obliged to work 
for her living, and was as idle as any young lady in the 
land ; and when somebody died, would receive something 
that would be worth the notice of some folks, with all 
their ready money." 

A bitter feud had thus taken place between the two 
worthy dames, and the young people were forbidden to 
think of one another. As to young Jack, he was too 
much in love to reason upon the matter ; and being a lit- 
tle heady, and not standing in much awe of his mother, 
was ready to sacrifice the whole dignity of the Tibbets to 
his passion. He had lately, however, had a violent quar- 
rel with his mistress, in consequence of some coquetry on 
her part, and at present stood aloof. The politic mother 
was exerting all her ingenuity to widen this accidental 
breach ; but, as is most commonly the case, the more she 
meddled with this perverse inclination of her son, the 
stronger it grew. In the mean time Old Ready-Money 
was kept completely in the dark ; both parties were in 
awe and uncertainty as to what might be his way of tak- 
ing the matter, and dreaded to awaken the sleeping 
lion. Between father and son, therefore, the worthy 
Mrs. Tibbets was full of business, and at her wit's end. 
It is true there was no great danger of honest Heady- 



THE FARM-HOUSE. 123 

Money's finding tlie thing out, if left to himself, for he 
was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no means 
quick of apprehension ; but there was daily risk of his 
attention being aroused by those cobwebs which his in- 
defatigable wife was continually spinning about his nose. 
Such is the distracted state of politics in the domestic 
empire of Eeady-Money Jack; which only shows the 
intrigues and internal dangers to which the best regu- 
lated governments are liable. In this perplexed situation 
of their affairs, both mother and son have applied to 
Master Simon for counsel ; and, with all his experience 
in meddling with other people's concerns, he finds it an 
exceedingly difficult part to play, to agree with both par- 
ties, seeing that their opinions and wishes are so diamet- 
rically opposite. 



HOESEMANSHIP. 

A coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of one put both 
horse and man into amazement. Some said it was a great crabshell brought 
out of China, and some imagined it to be one of the pagan temples, in which 
the canibals adored the dlvell. 

Taylor, the watek poet. 

HAVE made casual mention, more than once, 
of one of the Squire's antiquated retainers, old 
Christy the huntsman. I find that his crabbed 
humor is a source of much entertainment among the 
young men of the family ; the Oxonian, particularly, takes 
a mischievous pleasure now and then in slyly rubbing 
the old man against the grain, and then smoothing him 
down again ; for the old fellow is as ready to bristle up 
his back as a porcupine. He rides a venerable hunter 
called Pepper, which is a counterpart of himself, a heady, 
cross-grained animal, that frets the flesh off its bones ; 
bites, kicks, and plays all manner of villanous tricks. He 
is as tough, and nearly as old as his rider, who has rid- 
den him time out of mind, and is, indeed, the only one 
that can do anything with him. Sometimes, however, 
they have a complete quarrel, and a dispute for mastery, 
and then, I am told, it is as good as a farce to see the 

134 



E0B8EMAN8HIP. 



125 



heat they both get into, and the wrongheaded contest 
that ensues ; for they are quite knowing in each other's 
ways, and in the art of teasing and fretting each other. 
Notwithstanding these doughty brawls, however, there 
is nothing that nettles old Christy sooner than to ques- 
tion the merits of his horse ; which he upholds as tena- 
ciously as a faithful husband will vindicate the virtues of 
the termagant spouse that gives him a curtain-lecture 
every night of his life. 

The young men call old Christy their "professor of 
equitation," and in accounting for the appellation, they 
let me into some particulars of the Squire's mode of 
bringing up his children. There is an odd mixture of 
eccentricity and good sense in all the opinions of my 
worthy host. His mind is like modern Gothic, where 
plain brick- work is set off with pointed arches and quaint 
tracery. Though the main groundwork of his opinions 
is correct, yet he has a thousand little notions, picked 
up from old books, which stand out whimsically on the 
surface of his mind. 

Thus, in educating his boys, he chose Peachem, 
Markham, and such like old English writers, for his man-- 
uals. At an early age he took the lads out of their 
mother's hands, who was disposed, as mothers are apt to 
be, to make fine, orderly children of them, that should 
keep out of sun and rain, and never soil their hands, nor 
tear their clothes. 

In place of this, the Squire turned them loose to run 



126 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

free and wild about tlie park, without heeding wind or 
weather. He was also particularly attentive in making 
them bold and expert horsemen ; and these were the 
days when Old Christy, the huntsman, enjoyed great 
importance as the lads were put under his care to prac- 
tise them at the leaping-bars, and to keep an eye upon 
them in the chase. 

The Squire always objected to their riding in carriages 
of any kind, and is still a little tenacious on this point. 
He often rails against the universal use of carriages, and 
quotes the words of honest Nashe to that effect. "It 
was thought," says Nashe, in his Quaternio, " a kind of 
solecism, and to savor of effeminacy, for a young gentle- 
man in the flourishing time of his age to creep into a 
coach, and to shroud himself from wind and weather : 
our great delight was to outbrave the blustering Boreas 
upon a great horse ; to arm and prepare ourselves to go 
with Mars and Bellona into the field was our sport and 
pastime ; coaches and caroches we left unto them for 
whom they were first invented, for ladies and gentlemen, 
and decrepit age and impotent people." 

The Squire insists that the English gentlemen have 
lost much of their hardiness and manhood since the in- 
troduction of carriages. "Compare," he will say, "the 
fine gentleman of former times, ever on horseback, booted 
and spurred, and travel-stained, but open, frank, manly, 
and chivalrous, with the fine gentleman of the present 
day, full of' affectation and effeminacy, rolling along a 



HORSEMANSHIP. 127 

turnpike in his voluptuous vehicle. The young men of 
those days were rendered brave, and lofty, and generous 
in their notions, by almost living in their saddles, and 
having their foaming steeds ' like proud seas under 
them.' There is something," he adds, " in bestriding 
a fine horse, that makes a man feel more than mortal. 
He seems to have doubled his nature, and to have added 
to his own courage and sagacity the power, the speed, 
and stateliness of the superb animal on which he is 
mounted." 

" It is a great delight," says old Nashe, " to see a 
young gentleman with his skill and cunning, by his 
voice, rod, and spur, better to manage and to command 
the great Bucephalus, than the strongest Milo, with all 
his strength ; one while to see him make him tread, trot, 
and gallop the ring ; and one after to see him make him 
gather up roundly ; to bear his head steadily ; to run 
a full career swiftly ; to stop a sudden lightly : anon after 
to see him make him advance, to yorke, to go back, and 
side long, to turn on either hand ; to gallop the gallop 
galliard ; to do the capriole, the chambetta, and dance 
the curve tty." 

In conformity to these ideas, the Squire had them all 
on horseback at an early age, and made them ride, slap- 
dash, about the country, without flinching at hedge, or 
ditch, or stone wall, to the imminent danger of their 
necks. 

Even the fair Julia was partially included in this sys- 



128 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

tern ; and, under the instructions of old Christy, has 
become one of the best horsewomen in the country. 
The Squire says it is better than all the cosmetics and 
sweeteners of the breath that ever were invented. He 
extols the horsemanship of the ladies in former times, 
when Queen Elizabeth would scarcely suffer the rain to 
stop her accustomed ride. " And then think," he will 
say, " what nobler and sweeter beings it made them. 
"What a difference must there be, both in mind and body, 
between a joyous high-spirited dame of those days, glow- 
ing with health and exercise, freshened by every breeze, 
seated loftily and gracefully on her saddle, with plume 
on head, and hawk on hand, and her descendant of the 
present day, the pale victim of routs and ball-rooms, 
sunk languidly in one corner of an enervating carriage." 

The Squire's equestrian system has been attended 
with great success, for his sons, having passed through 
the whole course of instruction without breaking neck or 
limb, are now healthful, spirited, and active, and have 
the true Englishman's loA'^e for a horse. If their manli- 
ness and frankness are praised in their father's hearing, 
he quotes the old Persian maxim, and says, they have 
been taught " to ride, to shoot, and to speak the truth." 

It is true the Oxonian has now and then practised the 
old gentleman's doctrines a little in the extreme. He is 
a gay youngster, rather fonder of his horse than his 
book, with a little dash of the dandy ; though the ladies 
all declare that he is " the flower of the flock." The 



HOBSEMANSEIP. 129 

first year that lie was sent to Oxford lie had. a tutor 
appointed to overlook him, — a dry chip of the univer- 
sity. When he returned home in the vacation, the 
Squire made many inquiries about how he liked his col- 
lege, his studies, and his tutor. 

" Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I've parted with him some 
time since." 

" You have ; and pray, why so ? " 

" Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our college, and I 
was a little short of funds ; so I discharged my tutor, and 
took a horse, you know." 

" Ah, I was not aware of that, Tom," said the Squire, 
mildly. 

When Tom returned to college, his allowance was 
doubled, that he might be enabled to keep both horse 
and tutor. 

9 




LOVE SYMPTOMS. 

I will now begin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and be most ap- 
parently in love. — Makston. 

SHOULD not be surprised if we should have 
another pair of turtles at the Hall ; for Master 
Simon has informed me, in great confidence, 
that he suspects the general of some design upon the 
susceptible heart of Lady Lillycraft. I have, indeed, 
noticed a growing attention and courtesy in the veteran 
towards her ladyship ; he softens very much in her com- 
pany, sits by her at table, and entertains her with long 
stories about Seringapatam, and pleasant anecdotes of 
the Mulligatawney club. I have even seen him present 
her with a full-blown rose from the hot-house, in a style 
of the most captivating gallantry, and it was accepted 
with great suavity and graciousness ; for her ladyship de- 
lights in receiving the homage and attention of the sex. 

Indeed, the general was one of the earliest admirers 
that dangled in her train during her short reign of 
beauty; and they flirted together for half a season in 
London, some thirty or forty years since. She reminded 
him lately^ in the course of a conversation about former 

130 



LOVE SYMPTOMS. 131 

days, of the time when he used to ride a white horse, and 
to canter so gallantly by the side of her carriage in Hyde 
Park ; whereupon I have remarked that the veteran has 
regularly escorted her since, when she rides out on horse- 
back ; and, I suspect, he almost persuades himself that 
he makes as captivating an appearance as in his youthful 
days. 

It would be an interesting and memorable circumstance 
in the chronicles of Cupid, if this spark of the tender 
passion, after lying dormant for such a length of time, 
should again be fanned into a flame, from amidst the 
ashes of two burnt-out hearts. It would be an instance 
of perdurable fidelity, worthy of being placed beside 
those recorded in one of the Squire's favorite tomes, com- 
memorating the constancy of the olden times ; in which 
times, we are told, "Men and wymmen coulde love to- 
gyders seven yeres, and no licours lustes were betwene 
them, and thenne was love, trouthe, and feythfulnes ; 
and lo in lyke wyse was used love in Kyng Arthur's 
dayes." * 

Still, however, this may be nothing but a little vener- 
able flirtation, the general being a veteran dangler, and 
the good lady habituated to these kind of attentions. 
Master Simon, on the other hand, thinks the general is 
looking about him with the wary eye of an old cam- 
paigner ; and now that he is on the wane, is desirous of 

*Morte d' Arthur. 



132 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

getting into warm winter-quarters. Mucli allowance, how- 
ever, must be made for Master Simon's uneasiness on the 
subject, for lie looks on Lady Lillycraft's house as one 
of liis strongholds, where he is lord of the ascendant ; 
and, with all his admiration of the general, I much 
doubt whether he would like to see him lord of the lady 
and the establishment. 

There are certain other symptoms, notwithstanding, 
that give an air of probability to Master Simon's intima- 
tions. Thus, for instance, I have observed that the gen- 
eral has been very assiduous in his attentions to her lady- 
ship's dogs, and has several times exposed his fingers to 
imminent jeopardy, in attempting to pat Beauty on the 
head. It is to be hoped his advances to the mistress will 
be more favorably received, as all his overtures towards 
a caress are greeted by the pestilent little cur with a 
wary kindling of the eye, and a most venomous growl. 

He has, moreover, been very complaisant towards my 
lady's gentlewoman, the immaculate Mrs. Hannah, whom 
he used to speak of in a way that I do not choose to men- 
tion. Whether she has the same suspicions with Master 
Simon or not, I cannot say ; but she receives his civili- 
ties with no better grace than the implacable Beauty ; 
unscrewing her mouth into a most acid smile, and look- 
ing as though she could bite a piece out of him. In 
short, the poor general seems to have as formidable foes 
to contend with as a hero of ancient fairy tale ; who had 
to fight his way to his enchanted princess through fero- 



LOVE SYMPTOMS. 133 

cious monsters of every kind, and to encounter the brim- 
stone terrors of some fiery dragon. 

There is still another circumstance which inclines me 
to give very considerable credit to Master Simon's sus- 
picions. Lady Lillycraft is very fond of quoting poetry, 
and the conversation often turns upon it, on which occa- 
sions the general is thrown completely out. It happened 
the other day that Spenser's "Fairy Queen" was the 
theme for the great part of the morning, and the poor 
gentleman sat perfectly silent. I found him not long 
after in the library, with spectacles on nose, a book in 
his hand, and fast asleep. On my approach he awoke, 
slipped the spectacles into his pocket, and began to read 
very attentively. After a little while he put a paper in 
the place, and laid the volume aside, which I perceived 
was the "Fairy Queen." I have had the curiosity to 
watch how he got on in his poetical studies ; but, though 
I have repeatedly seen him with the book in his hand, 
yet I find the paper has not advanced above three or four 
pages ; the general being extremely apt to fall asleep 
when he reads, 



FALCONET. 

Ne is there hawk which mantleth on her perch, 
Whether high tow'ring or accousting low, 

But I the measure of her flight doe search. 
And all her prey and all her diet know. 

Spensek. 

HERE are several grand sources of lamentation 
furnislied to the worthy Squire by the improve- 
ment of society and the grievous advancement 
of knowledge ; among which none, I believe, causes him 
more frequent regret than the unfortunate invention of 
gunpowder. To this he continually traces the decay of 
some favorite custom, and, indeed, the general downfall 
of all chivalrous and romantic usages. "English sol- 
diers," he says, " have never been the men they were in 
the days of the cross-bow and the long-bow ; when they 
depended upon the strength of the arm, and the English 
archer could draw a cloth-yard shaft to the head. These 
were the times when, at the battles of Cressy, Poictiers, 
and Agincourt, the French chivalry was completely de- 
stroyed by the bowmen of England. The yeomanry, too, 
have never been what they were, when, in times of peace, 

134 



FALCONBY. I35 

they were constantly exercised with the bow, and archery 
was a favorite holiday pastime." 

Among the other evils which have followed in the train 
of this fatal invention of gunpowder, the Squire classes the 
total decline of the noble art of falconry. "Shooting," 
he says, "is a skulking, treacherous, solitary sport in 
comparison ; but hawking was a gallant, open, sunshiny 
recreation ; it was the generous sport of hunting carried 
into the skies." 

"It was, moreover," he says, "according to Braith- 
waite, the stately amusement of 'high and mounting 
spirits ' ; for, as the old "Welsh proverb affirms, in those 
times * you might know a gentleman by his hawk, horse, 
and greyhound.' Indeed, a cavalier was seldom seen 
abroad without his hawk on his fist ; and even a lady of 
rank did not think herself completely equipped, in riding 
forth, unless she had her tassel-gentel held by jesses on 
her delicate hand. It was thought in those excellent 
days, according to an old writer, 'quite sufficient for 
noblemen to winde their horn, and to carry their hawke 
fair; and leave study and learning to the children of 
mean people.' " 

Knowing the good Squire's hobby, therefore, I have 
not been surprised in finding that, among the various 
recreations of former times, which he has endeavored to 
revive in the little world in which he rules, he has be- 
stowed great attention on the noble art of falconry. In 
this he, of course, has been seconded by his indefatiga- 



136 BBAGEBBIDQE HALL, 

ble coadjutor, Master Simon ; and even tlie parson lias 
tlirown considerable light on their labors, by various 
hints on the subject, which he has met with in old Eng- 
lish works. As to the precious work of that famous 
dame, Juliana Barnes; the "Gentleman's Academie," by 
Markham ; and the other well-known treatises that were 
the manuals of ancient sportsmen, they have them at 
their fingers' ends ; but they have more especially studied 
some old tapestry in the house, whereon is represented a 
party of cavaliers and stately dames, with doublets, 
caps, and flaunting feathers, mounted on horse, with at- 
tendants on foot, all in animated pursuit of the game. 

The Squire has discountenanced the killing of any 
hawks in his neighborhood, but gives a liberal bounty for 
all that are brought him alive ; so that the Hall is well 
stocked with all kinds of birds of prey. On these he and 
Master Simon have exhausted their patience and in- 
genuity, endeavoring to " reclaim " them, as it is termed, 
and to train them up for the sport ; but they have met 
with continual checks and disappointments. Their 
feathered school has turned out the most untractable and 
graceless scholars : nor is it the least of their labor to 
drill the retainers who were to act as ushers under them, 
and to take immediate charge of these refractory birds. 
Old Christy and the gamekeeper both, for a time, set 
their faces against the whole plan of education : Christy 
having been nettled at hearing what he terms a wild- 
goose chase, put on a par with a fox-hunt; and the game- 



FALCONRT. 137 

keeper having always been accustomed to look upon 
hawks as arrant poachers, which it was his duty to shoot 
down, and nail, in terrorem, against the out-houses. 

Christy has at length taken the matter in hand, but has 
done still more mischief by his intermeddling. He is as 
positive and wrong-headed about this, as he is about 
hunting. Master Simon has continual disputes with him 
as to feeding and training the hawks. He reads to him 
long passages from the old authors I have mentioned; 
but Christy, who cannot read, has a sovereign contempt 
for all book-knowledge, and persists in treating the hawks 
according to his own notions, which are drawn from his 
experience, in younger days, in the rearing of game- 
cocks. 

The consequence is, that, between these jarring sys- 
tems, the poor birds have had a most trying and un- 
happy time of it. Many have fallen victims to Christy's 
feeding and Master Simon's physicking ; for the latter has 
gone to work secundem artem, and has given them all the 
vomitings and scourings laid down in the books ; never 
were poor hawks so fed and physicked before. Others 
have been lost by being but half "reclaimed " or tamed; 
for on being taken into the field, they have " raked " after 
the game quite out of hearing of the call, and never re- 
turned to school. 

All these disappointments had been petty, yet sore 
grievances to the Squire, and had made him to despond 
about success. He has lately, however, been made 



138 BBAGEBRIDGE HALL. 

happy by the receipt of a fine Welsh falcon, which Mas- 
ter Simon terms a stately highflyer. It is a present from 
the Squire's friend, Sir Watkyn William Wynne ; and is, 
no doubt, a descendant of some ancient line of Welsh 
princes of the air, that have long lorded it over their 
kingdom of clouds, from Wynnstay to the very summit of 
Snowden, or the brow of Penmanmawr. 

Ever since the Squire received this invaluable present, 
he has been as impatient to sally forth and make proof of 
it, as was Don Quixote to assay his suit of armor. There 
have been some demurs as to whether the bird was in 
proper health and training ; but these have been over- 
ruled by the vehement desire to play with a new toy ; and 
it has been determined, right or wrong, in season or out 
of season, to have a day's sport in hawking to-morrow. 

The Hall, as usual, whenever the Squire is about to 
make some new sally on his hobby, is all agog with the 
thing. Miss Templeton, who is brought up in reverence 
for all her guardian's humors, has proposed to be of the 
party, and Lady Lillycraft has talked also of riding out 
to the scene of action and looking on. This has gratified 
the old gentleman extremely ; he hails it as an auspicious 
omen of the revival of falconry, and does not despair but 
the time will come when it will be again the pride of a 
fine lady to carry about a noble falcon in preference to a 
parrot or a lap-dog. 

I have amused myself with the bustling preparations 
of that busy spirit, Master Simon, and the continual 



FALCONET. 139 

thwartings lie receives from that genuine son of a pep- 
per-box, old Christy. They have had half a dozen con- 
sultations about how the hawk is to be prepared for the 
morning's sport. Old Nimrod, as usual, has always got 
in a pet, upon which Master Simon has invariably given 
up the point, observing, in a good-humored tone, "Well, 
well, have it your own way, Christy ; only don't put your- 
self in a passion ; " a reply which always nettles the old 
man ten times more than ever. 



HAWKING. 

The soaring hawk, fi-om fist that flies, 

Her falconer doth constrain, 
Sometimes to range the ground about, 

To find her out again ; 
And if by sight, or sound of bell, 

His falcon he may see, 
Wo ho ! he cries, with cheerful voice — 

The gladdest man is he. 

Handfull of Pleasant Delites. 

T an early liour this morning tlie Hall was in 
a bustle, preparing for the sport of the day. 
J I heard Master Simon whistling and singing 
under my window at sunrise, as he was preparing the 
jesses for the hawk's legs, and could distinguish now and 
then a stanza of one of his favorite old ditties : 

" In peascod time, when hound to horn 
Gives note that buck be kill'd ; 
And little boy with pipe of com 
Is tending sheep a-field," &c. 

A hearty breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, was 
served up in the great hall. The whole garrison of re- 
tainers and 'hangers-on were in motion, reinforced by 

140 




ffA WKIWG. 



141 



volunteer idlers from the village. The horses were led 
up and down before the door ; everybody had something 
to say, and something to do, and hurried hither and 
thither ; and there was a direful yelping of dogs : some 
that were to accompany us being eager to set off, and 
others that were to stay at home being whipped back to 
their kennels. In short, for once, the good Squire's 
mansion might have been taken as a good specimen of 
one of the rantipole establishments of the good old feu- 
dal times. 

Breakfast being finished, the chivalry of the Hall pre- 
pared to take the field. The fair Julia was of the party, 
in a hunting-dress, with a light plume of feathers in her 
riding-hat. As she mounted her favorite galloway, I 
remarked with pleasure that old Christy forgot his usual 
crustiness, and hastened to adjust her saddle and bridle. 
He touched his cap as she smiled on him and thanked 
him; and then, looking round at the other attendants, 
gave a knowing nod of his head, in which I read pride 
and exultation at the charming appearance of his pupil. 

Lady Lillycraft had likewise determined to witness the 
sport. She was dressed in her broad white beaver, tied 
under the chin, and a riding-habit of the last century. 
She rode her sleek, ambling pony, whose motion was as 
easy as a rocking-chair, and was gallantly escorted by the 
general, who looked not unlike one of the doughty heroes 
in the old prints of the battle of Blenheim. The parson, 
likewise, accompanied her on the other side ; for this 



142 BRACEBBIDGE HALL. 

was a learned amusement in whicli he took great interest, 
and, indeed, liad given mucli counsel, from his knowledge 
of old customs. 

At length everything was arranged, and we set off from 
the Hall. The exercise on horseback puts one in fine 
spirits ; and the scene was gay and animating. The 
young men of the family accompanied Miss Templeton. 
She sat lightly and gracefully in her saddle, her plumes 
dancing and waving in the air ; and the group had a 
charming effect as they appeared and disappeared among 
the trees, cantering along with the bounding animation of 
youth. The Squire and Master Simon rode together, ac- 
companied by old Christy, mounted on Pepper. The lat- 
ter bore the hawk on his fist, as he insisted the bird was 
most accustomed to him. There was a rabble rout on 
foot, composed of retainers from the Hall, and some 
idlers from the village, with two or three spaniels, for the 
purpose of starting the game. 

A kind of corps de reserve came on quietly in the rear, 
composed of Lady Lillycraft, General Harbottle, the par- 
son, and a fat footman. Her ladyship ambled gently 
along on her pony, while the general, mounted on a tall 
hunter, looked down upon her with an air of the most 
protecting gallantry. 

For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with this last 
party, or rather lagged behind, that I might take in the 
whole picture ; and the parson occasionally slackened his 
pace and jogged on in company with me. 



HAWKING. -^^^ 

The sport led us at some distance from the Hall in a 
soft meadow, reeking with the moist verdure of spring 
A httle river ran through it, bordered by willows, which 
had put forth their tender early foliage. The sportsmen 
were m quest of herons which were said to keep about 
this stream. 

There was some disputing, already, among the lead- 
ers of the sport. The Squire, Master Simon, and old 
Christy, came every now and then to a pause, to consult 
together, like the field-officers in an army; and I saw by 
certain motions of the head, that Christy was as positive 
as any old wrong-headed German commander. 

As we were prancing up this quiet meadow, every 
sound we made was answered by a distinct echo from the 
sunny wall of an old building on the opposite margin of 
the stream; and I paused to listen to this "spirit of a 
sound," which seems to love such quiet and beautiful 
places. The parson informed me that this was the ruin 
of an ancient grange, and was supposed, by the country 
people, to be haunted by a dobbie,-a kind of rural 
sprite, something like Eobin Goodfellow. They often 
fancied the echo to be the voice of the dobbie answering 
them, and were rather shy of disturbing it after dark. 
He added, that the Squire was very careful of this ruin, 
on account of the superstition connected with it. As I 
considered this local habitation of an "airy nothing," I 
called to mind the fine description of an echo in Web- 
ster's "Duchess of Malfy " ; 



14A BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 



• Yond side o' th' river lies a ■wall 



Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion 
Gives the best echo that you ever heard : 
So plain is the distinction of our words, 
That many have supposed it a spirit 
That answers." 

The parson went on to comment on a pleasing and fan- 
ciful appellation wliicli tlie Jews of old gave to the echo, 
which they called Bath-kool, that is to say, " the daugh- 
ter of the voice ; " they considered it an oracle, supplying 
in the second temple the want of the urim and thummim, 
with which the first was honored.* The little man was 
just entering very largely and learnedly upon the subject, 
when we were startled by a prodigious bawling, shout- 
ing, and yelping. A flight of crows, alarmed by the ap- 
proach of our forces, had suddenly rose from a meadow ; 
a cry was put up by the rabble rout on foot. " Now, 
Christy ! now is your time, Christy ! " The Squire and 
Master Simon, who were beating up the river banks in 
quest of a heron, called out eagerly to Christy to keep 
quiet ; the old man, vexed and bewildered by the confu- 
sion of voices, completely lost his head ; in his flurry he 
slipped off the hood, cast off the falcon, and away flew 
the crows, and away soared the hawk. 

I had paused on a rising ground, close to Lady Lilly- 
craft and her escort, whence I had a good view of the 

* Beleker's Monde enchante. 



HA WKING. 145 

sport. I was pleased with the appearance of the party 
in the meadow, riding along in the direction that the 
bird flew; their bright beaming faces turned up to the 
bright skies as they watched the game ; the attendants 
on foot scampering along, looking up, and calling out ; 
and the dogs bounding and yelping with clamorous 
sympathy. 

The hawk had singled out a quarry from among the 
carrion crew. It was curious to see the efforts of the two 
birds to get above each other; one to make the fatal 
swoop, the other to avoid it. Now they crossed athwart 
a bright feathery cloud, and now they were against a 
clear blue sky. I confess, being no sportsman, I was 
more interested for the poor bird that was striving for its 
life, than for the hawk that was playing the part of a 
mercenary soldier. At length the hawk got the upper- 
hand, and made a rushing stoop at her quarry, but the 
latter made as sudden a surge downwards, and slanting 
up again, evaded the blow, screaming and making the 
best of his way for a dry tree on the brow of a neighbor- 
ing hill; while the hawk, disappointed of her blow, 
soared up again into the air, and appeared to be " rak- 
ing " off. It was in vain old Christy called, and whis- 
tled, and endeavored to lure her down ; she paid no 
regard to him : and, indeed, his calls were drowned in 
the shouts and yelps of the army of militia that had fol- 
lowed him into the field. 

Just then an exclamation from Lady Lillycraft made 
10 



146 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

me turn my head. I beheld a complete confusion among 
the sportsmen in the little vale below us. They were 
galloping and running towards the edge of a bank ; and 
I was shocked to see Miss Templeton's horse galloping 
at large without his rider. I rode to the place to which 
the others were hurrying, and when I reached the bank, 
which almost overhung the stream, I saw at the foot of 
it the fair Julia, pale, bleeding, and apparently lifeless, 
supported in the arms of her frantic lover. 

In galloping heedlessly along, with her eyes turned 
upward, she had unwarily approached too near the bank ; 
it had given way with her, and she and her horse had 
been precipitated to the pebbled margin of the river. 

I never saw greater consternation. The captain was 
distracted. Lady Lillycraft fainting, the Squire in dis- 
may, and Master Simon at his wit's ends. The beautiful 
creature at length showed signs of returning life ; she 
opened her eyes, looked around her upon the anxious 
group, and comprehending in a moment the nature of the 
scene, gave a sweet smile, and putting her hand in her 
lover's, exclaimed feebly, " I am not much hurt, Guy ! " 
I could have taken her to my heart for that single ex- 
clamation. 

It was found, indeed, that she had escaped almost 
miraculously, with a contusion of the head, a sprained 
ankle, and some slight bruises. After her wound was 
stanched, she was taken to a neighboring cottage, until 
a carriage could be summoned to convey her home ; and 



HAWKING. 147 

when this had arrived, the cavalcade, which had issued 
forth so gayly on this enterprise, returned slowly and 
pensively to the Hall. 

I had been charmed by the generous spirit shown by 
this young creature, who amidst pain and danger had 
been anxious only to relieve the distress of those around 
her. I was gratified, therefore, by the universal concern 
displayed by the domestics on our return. They came 
crowding down the avenue, each eager to render assist- 
ance. The butler stood ready with some curiously deli- 
cate cordial; the old housekeeper was provided with half 
a dozen nostrums, prepared by her own hands according 
to the family receipt-book ; while her niece, the melting 
Phoebe, having no other way of assisting, stood wringing 
her hands, and weeping aloud. 

The most material effect that is likely to follow this 
accident, is a postponement of the nuptials, which were 
close at hand. Though I commiserate the impatience of 
the captain on that account, yet I should not otherwise 
be sorry at the delay, as it will give me a better oppor- 
tunity of studying the characters here assembled, with 
which I grow more and more entertained. 

I cannot but perceive that the worthy Squire is quite 
disconcerted at the unlucky result of his hawking experi- 
ment, and this unfortunate illustration of his eulogy on 
female equitation. Old Christy, too, is very waspish, 
having been sorely twitted by Master Simon for having 
let his hawk fly at carrion. As to the falcon, in the con- 



148 BRACEBBIBQE HALL. 

fusion occasioned by tlie fair Julia's disaster, the bird 
was totally forgotten. I make no doubt slie lias made 
the best of her way back to the hospitable hall of Sir 
Watkyn Williams Wynne ; and may very possibly, at 
this present writing, be pluming her wings among the 
breezy bowers of Wynnstay. 



ST. MAEK'S EVE. 

O 'tis a fearful thing to be no more. 

Or if to be, to wander after death ! 

To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day, 

And when the darkness comes, to glide in paths 

That lead to graves ; and in the silent vault, 

Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, 

Striving to enter your forbidden corpse. 

Drtden. 

HE conversation this evening at supper-table 
took a curious turn on the subject of a super- 
stition, formerly very prevalent in this part of 
the country, relative to the present night of the year, 
which is the Eve of St. Mark's. It was believed, the 
parson informed us, that if any one would watch in the 
church-porch on this eve, for three successive years, from 
eleven to one o'clock at night, he would see on the third 
year the shades of those of the parish who were to die in 
the course of the year, pass by him into church, clad in 

their usual apparel. 

Dismal as such a sight wouldl5e, he assured us that it 
was formerly a frequent thing for persons to make the 
necessary vigils. He had known more than one instance 
in his time. One old woman, who pretended to have 

149 



150 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

seen this phantom procession, was an object of great awe 
for the whole year afterwards, and caused much uneasi- 
ness and mischief. If she shook her head mysteriously 
at a person, it was like a death-warrant ; and she had 
nearly caused the death of a sick person by looking rue- 
fully in at the window. 

There was also an old man, not many years since, of 
a sullen, melancholy temperament, who had kept two 
vigils, and began to excite some talk in the village, when, 
fortunately for the public comfort, he died shortly after 
his third watching ; very probably from a cold that he 
had taken, as the night was tempestuous. It was re- 
ported about the village, however, that he had seen his 
own phantom pass by him into the church. 

This led to the mention of another superstition of an 
equally strange and melancholy kind, which, however, is 
chiefly confined to Wales. It is respecting what are 
called corpse candles, little wandering fires, of a pale 
bluish light, that move about like tapers in the open air, 
and are supposed to designate the way some corpse is to 
go. One was seen at Lanylar, late at night, hovering up 
and down, along the bank of the Istwith, and was 
watched by the neighbors until they were tired, and went 
to bed. Not long afterwards there came a comely coun- 
try lass, from Montgomeryshire, to see her friends, who 
dwelt on the opposite side of the river. She thought to 
ford the stream at the very place where the light had 
been first seen, but was dissuaded on account of the 



ST. MARK'S EYE. 151 

height of the flood. She walked to and fro along the 
bank, just where the candle had moved, waiting for the 
subsiding of the water. She at length endeavored to 
cross, but the poor girl was drowned in the attempt.* 

There was something mournful in this little anecdote 
of rural superstition, that seemed to affect all the lis- 



/t 



teners. ' Indeed, it is curious to remark how completely 
a conversation of the kind will absorb the attention of a 
circle, and sober down its gayety, however boisterous. 
By degrees I noticed that every one was leaning forward 
over the table, with eyes earnestly fixed upon the par- 
son, and at the mention of corpse candles which had 
been seen about the chamber of a young lady who died 
on the eve of her wedding-day, Lady Lillycraft turned 
pale. 

lave witnessed the introduction of stories of the kind 
into various evening circles ; they were often commenced 
in jest, and listened to with smiles ; but I never knew the 
most gay or the most enlightened of audiences, that were 
not, if the conversation continued for any length of time, 
completely and solemnly interested in it. There is, I be- 
lieve, a degree of superstition lurking in every mind ; and 
I doubt if any one can thoroughly examine all his secret 
notions and impulses without detecting it, hidden, per- 
haps, even from himself. It seems, in fact, to be a part 
of our nature, like instinct in animals, acting indepen- 

* Aubrey's Miscel. 



152 BBACEBRIDQE HALL. 

dently of our reason. It is often found existing in lofty 
natures, especially those that are poetical and aspiring. 
A great and extraordinary poet of our day, whose life and 
writings evince a mind subject to powerful exaltations, is 
said to believe in omens and secret intimations. Caesar, 
it is well known, was greatly under the influence of such 
belief; and Napoleon had his good and evil days, and his 
! presiding star. 

y"^^^"^ As to the worthy parson, I have no doubt that he is 
strongly inclined to superstition. He is naturally credu- 
lous, and passes so much of his time searching out popu- 
lar traditions and supernatural tales, that his mind has 
probably become infected by them. He has lately been 
immersed in the " Demonolatria " of Nicholas Remigius, 
concerning supernatural occurrences in Lorraine, and the 
writings of Joachimus Camerarius, called by Vossius the 
Phoenix of Germany ; and he entertains the ladies with 
stories from them, that make them almost afraid to go to 
bed at night. I have been charmed myself with some of 
the wild little superstitions which he has adduced from 
Blefkenius, Scheffer, and others, such as those of the 
Laplanders about the domestic spirits which wake them 
at night, and summon them to go and fish ; of Thor, the 
deity of thunder, who has power of life and death, health 
and sickness, and who, armed with the rainbow, shoots 
his arrows at those evil demons which live on the tops of 
rocks and mountains, and infest the lakes ; of the Juhles 
or Juhlafolket, vagrant troops of spirits, which roam the 



ST. MARK'S EVE. I53 

air, and wander up and down by forests and mountains, 
and the moonlight sides of hills. 

The parson never openly professes his belief in ghosts, 
but I have remarked that he has a suspicious way of 
pressing great names into the defence of supernatural 
doctrines, and making philosophers and saints fight for 
him. He expatiates at large on the opinions of the 
ancient philosophers about larves, or nocturnal phan- 
toms, the spirits of the wicked, which wandered like 
exiles about the earth ; and about those spiritual beings 
which abode in the air, but descended occasionally to- 
earth, and mingled among mortals, acting as agents be- 
tween them and the gods. He quotes also from Philo 
the rabbi, the contemporary of the apostles, and, ac- 
cording to some, the friend of St. Paul, who says that 
the air is full of spirits of different ranks ; some destined 
for a time to exist in mortal bodies, from which, being 
emancipated, they pass and repass between heaven 
and earth, as agents or messengers in the service of the 
Deity. 

But the worthy little man assumes a bolder tone when 
he quotes from the fathers of the church; such as St. 
Jerome, who gives it as the opinion of all the doctors, 
that the air is filled with powers opposed to each other ; 
and Lactantius, who says that corrupt and dangerous 
spirits wander over the earth, and seek to console them- 
selves for their own fall by effecting the ruin of the hu- 
man race ; and Clemens Alexandrinus, who is of opinion 



154 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. 

that tlie souls of the blessed have knowledge of what 
passes among men, the same as angels have. 

I am now alone in my chamber, but these themes have 
taken such hold of my imagination, that I cannot sleep. 
The room in which I sit is just fitted to foster such a 
state of mind. The walls are hung with tapestry the fig- 
ures of which are faded, and look like unsubstantial 
shapes melting away from sight. Over the fireplace is 
the portrait of a lady, who, according to the house- 
keeper's tradition, pined to death for the loss of her 
lover in the battle of Blenheim. She has a most pale 
and plaintive countenance, and seems to fix her eyes 
mournfully upon me. The family have long since re- 
tired. I have heard their steps die away, and the dis- 
tant doors clap to after them. The murmur of voices, 
and the peal of remote laughter, no longer reach the ear. 
The clock from the church, in which so many of the for- 
mer inhabitants of this house lie buried, has chimed the 
awful hour of midnight. 

I have sat by the window and mused upon the dusky 
landscape, watching the lights disappearing, one by one, 
from the distant village ; and the moon rising in her 
silent majesty, and leading up all the silver pomp of 
heaven. As I have gazed upon these quiet groves and 
shadowy lawns, silvered over, and imperfectly lighted by 
streaks of dewy moonshine, my mind has been crowded 
by "thick coming fancies," concerning those spiritual 
beings which 



ST. MASK'S EVE. 155 
"walk the earth 



Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep." 

Are there, indeed, sucli beings? Is this space be- 
tween us and the Deity filled up by innumerable orders 
of spiritual beings forming the same gradations between 
the human soul and divine perfection, that we see pre- 
vailing from humanity downwards to the meanest insect ? 
It is a sublime and beautiful doctrine, inculcated by 
the early fathers, that there are guardian angels appoint- 
ed to watch over cities and nations ; to take care of the 
welfare of good men, and to guard and guide the steps of 
helpless infancy. "Nothing," says St. Jerome, "gives 
us a greater idea of the dignity of our soul, than that 
God has given each of us, at the moment of our birth, an 
angel to have care of it." 

Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning to visit 
the scenes and beings which were dear to them during 
the body's existence, though it has been debased by the 
absurd superstitions of the vulgar, in itself is awfully sol- 
emn and sublime. However lightly it may be ridiculed, 
yet the attention involuntarily yielded to it whenever it 
is made the subject of serious discussion, its prevalence 
in all ages and countries, and even among newly discov- 
ered nations that have had no previous interchange 
of thought with other parts of the world, prove it to 
be one of those mysterious, and almost instinctive be- 
liefs to which, if left to ourselves, we should naturally 
incline. 



156 BRACEBBIDGE HALL. 

In spite of all the pride of reason and philosophy, a 
vague doubt will still lurk in the mind, and perhaps 
will never be perfectly eradicated ; as it is concerning a 
matter that does not admit of positive demonstration. 
Everything connected with our spiritual nature is full of 
doubt and difficulty. " We are fearfully and wonderfully 
made ; " we are surrounded by mysteries, and we are 
mysteries even to ourselves. Who yet has been able to 
comprehend and describe the nature of the soul, its con- 
nection with the body, or in what part of the frame it 
is situated? We know merely that it does exist; but 
whence it came, and when it entered into us, and how it 
is retained, and where it is seated, and how it operates, 
are all matters of mere speculation and contradictory 
theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of this spiritual 
essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and is 
continually present to our consciousness, how can we 
pretend to ascertain or to deny its powers and operations 
when released from its fleshly prison-house ? It is more 
the manner, therefore, in which this superstition has 
been degraded, than its intrinsic absurdity, that has 
brought it into contempt. Eaise it above the frivolous 
purposes to which it has been applied, strip it of the 
gloom and horror with which it has been surrounded, 
and none of the whole circle of visionary creeds could 
more delightfully elevate the imagination, or more ten- 
derly affect the heart. It would become a sovereign 
comfort at the bed of death, soothing the bitter tear 



ST. MARK'S EVE. 157 

wrung from us by the agony of our mortal separation. 
"What could be more consoling than the idea that the 
souls of those whom we once loved were permitted to 
return and watch over our welfare ? That affectionate 
and guardian spirits sat by our pillows when we slept, 
keeping a vigil over our most helpless hours? That 
beauty and innocence which had languished into the 
tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, revealing themselves 
in those blest dreams wherein we live over again the 
hours of past endearment. A belief of this kind would, I 
should think, be a new incentive to virtue ; rendering us 
circumspect even in our secret moments, from the idea 
that those we once loved and honored were invisible wit- 
nesses of all our actions. 

It would take away, too, from that loneliness and des- 
titution which we are apt to feel more and more as we 
get on in our pilgrimage through the wilderness of this 
world, and find that those who set forward with us, lov- 
ingly, and cheerily, on the journey, have one by one 
dropped away from our side. Place the superstition in 
this light, and I confess I should like to be a believer in 
it. I see nothing in it that is incompatible with the ten- 
der and merciful nature of our religion, nor revolting to 
the wishes and affections of the heart. 

There are departed beings whom I have loved as I 
never again shall love in this world, — who have loved me 
as I never again shall be loved ! If such beings do ever 
retain in their blessed spheres the attachments which 



158 BBACEBRIDQE HALL. 

they felt on earth, if tliey take an interest in the poor 
concerns of transient mortality, and are permitted to 
hold communion with those whom they have loved on 
earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in this 
silence and solitude, I could receive their visitation with 
the most solemn, but unalloyed delight. 

In truth, such visitations would be too happy for this 
world ; they would be incompatible with the nature of this 
imperfect state of being. We are here placed in a mere 
scene of spiritual thraldom and restraint. Our souls are 
shut in and limited by bounds and barriers ; shackled by 
mortal infirmities, and subject to all the gross impedi- 
ments of matter. In vain would they seek to act inde- 
pendently of the body, and to mingle together in spirit- 
ual intercourse. They can only act here through their 
fleshly organs. Their earthly loves are made up of tran- 
sient embraces and long separations. The most intimate 
friendship, of what brief and scattered portions of time 
does it consist ! We take each other by the hand, and 
we exchange a few words and looks of kindness, and we 
rejoice together for a few short moments, and then days, 
months, years intervene, and we see and know nothing of 
each other. Or, granting that we dwell together for the 
full season of this our mortal life, the grave soon closes 
its gates between us, and then our spirits are doomed to 
remain in separation and widowhood; until they meet 
again in that more perfect state of being, where soul will 
dwell with soul in blissful communion, and there will be 



ST. MAMK'S EVE. I59 

neither death, nor absence, nor anything else to interrupt 
our felicity. 

^4j* In the foregoing paper I have alluded to the writ- 
ings of some of the old Jewish rabbins. They abound 
with wild theories ; but among them are many truly 
poetical flights; and their ideas are often very beauti- 
fully expressed. Their speculations on the nature of 
angels are curious and fanciful, though much resembling 
the doctrines of the ancient philosophers. In the writ- 
ings of the Eabbi Eleazer is an account of the temptation 
of our first parents, and the fall of the angels, which the 
parson pointed out to me as having probably furnished 
some of the groundwork for "Paradise Lost." 

According to Eleazer, the ministering angels said to 
the Deity, " What is there in man that thou makest him 
of such importance ? Is he anything else than vanity? 
for he can scarcely reason a little on terrestrial things." 
To which God replied, "Do you imagine that I will be 
exalted and glorified only by you here above ? I am the 
same below that I am here. Who is there among you 
that can call all the creatures by their names ? " There 
was none found among them that could do so. At that 
moment Adam arose, and called all the creatures by their 
name. Seeing which, the ministering angels said among 
themselves, " Let us consult together how we may cause 
Adam to sin against the Creator, otherwise he will not 
fail to become our master." 

Sammael, who was a great prince in the heavens, was 



160 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

present at this council, witli the saints of the first order, 
and the seraphim of six bands. Sammael chose several 
out of the twelve orders to accompany him, and de- 
scended below, for the purpose of visiting all the crea- 
tures which God had created. He found none more cun- 
ning and more fit to do evil than the serpent. 

The Eabbi then treats of the seduction and the fall of 
man ; of the consequent fall of the demon, and the pun- 
ishment which God inflicted on Adam, Eve, and the ser- 
pent. " He made them all come before him ; pronounced 
nine maledictions on Adam and Eve, and condemned them 
to suffer death ; and he precipitated Sammael and all his 
band from heaven. He cut off the feet of the serpent, 
which had before the figure of a camel, (Sammael having 
been mounted on him,) and he cursed him among all 
beasts and animals." 



GENTILITY. 



• True Gentrie standeth in the trade 




Of virtuous life, not in the fleshly line ; 
For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is divine. 

Mirror for Magistrates. 

HAVE menticMied some peculiarities of the 
Squire in tlie education of his sons ; but I 
would not have it thought that his instructions 
were directed chiefly to their personal accomplishments. 
He took great pains also to form their minds, and to in- 
culcate what he calls good old English principles, such as 
are laid down in the writings of Peachem and his contem- 
poraries. There is one author of whom he cannot speak 
without indignation, which is Chesterfield. He avers 
that he did much, for a time, to injure the true national 
character, and to introduce, instead of open manly sin- 
cerity, a hollow perfidious courtliness. "His maxims," 
he affirms, " were calculated to chill the delightful enthu- 
siasm of youth, and to make them ashamed of that ro- 
mance which is the dawn of generous manhood, and to 
impart to them a cold polish and a premature worldli- 
ness." 

"Many of Lord Chesterfield's maxims would make a 
11 161 



162 BRACEBRIDQE HALL. 

young man a mere man of pleasure ; but an Englisli gen- 
tleman sliould not be a mere man of pleasure. He lias 
no right to such, selfisli indulgence. His ease, liis lei- 
sure, liis opulence, are debts due to his country, which he 
must ever stand ready to discharge. He should be a 
man at all points; simple, frank, courteous, intelligent, 
accomplished, and informed; upright, intrepid, and dis- 
interested; one who can mingle among freemen; who 
can cope with statesmen ; who can champion his country 
and its rights either at home or abroad. In a country 
like England, where there is such free and unbounded 
scope for the exertion of intellect, and where opinion and 
example have such weight with the people, every gentle- 
man of fortune and leisure should feel himself bound to 
employ himself in some way towards promoting the pros- 
perity or glory of the nation. In a country where intel- 
lect and action are trammeled and restrained, men of 
rank and fortune may become idlers and triflers with im- 
punity ; but an English coxcomb is inexcusable ; and 
this, perhaps, is the reason why he is the most offensive 
and insupportable coxcomb in the world. 

The Squire, as Frank Bracebridge informs me, would 
often hold forth in this manner to his sons when they 
were about leaving the paternal roof ; one to travel 
abroad, one to go to the army, and one to the university. 
He used to have them with him in the library, which is 
hung with the portraits of Sydney, Surrey, Raleigh, 
Wyat, and others. " Look at those models of true Eng- 



QENTILITT. 163 

lish. gentlemen, my sons," lie would say with enthusiasm ; 
" those were men that wreathed the graces of the most 
delicate and refined taste around the stern virtues of the 
soldiers; that mingled what was gentle and gracious 
with what was hardy and manly ; that possessed the true 
chivalry of spirit which is the exalted essence of man- 
hood. They are the lights by which the youth of the 
country should array themselves. They were the pat- 
terns and idols of their country at home ; they were the 
illustrators of its dignity abroad. * Surrey,' says Cam- 
den, 'was the first nobleman that illustrated his high 
birth with the beauty of learning. He was acknowledged 
to be the gallantest man, the politest lover, and the com- 
pletest gentleman of his time.' And as to Wyat, his 
friend Surrey most amiably testifies of him, that his per- 
son was majestic and beautiful, his visage * stern and 
mild ' ; that he sung, and played the lute with remark- 
able sweetness ; spoke foreign languages with grace and 
fluency, and possessed an inexhaustible fund of wit. And 
see what a high commendation is passed upon these 
illustrious friends : ' They were the two chieftains, who, 
having travelled into Italy, and there tasted the sweet 
and stately measures and style of the Italian poetry, 
greatly polished our rude and homely manner of vulgar 
poetry from what it had been before, and therefore may 
be justly called the reformers of our English poetry and 
style.' And Sir Philip Sydney, who has left us such 
monuments of elegant thought and generous sentiment, 



164 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

and wlio illustrated tis chivalrous spirit so gloriously in 
tlie field. And Sir Walter E-aleigli, the elegant courtier, 
the intrepid soldier, the enterprising discoverer, the en- 
lightened philosopher, the magnanimous martyr. These 
are the men for English gentlemen to study. Chester- 
field, with his cold and courtly maxims, would have 
chilled and impoverished such spirits. He would have 
blighted all the budding romance of their temperaments. 
Sydney would never have written his ' Arcadia,' nor Sur- 
rey have challenged the world in vindication of the 
beauties of his Geraldine. These are the men, my sons," 
the Squire will continue, " that show to what our na- 
tional character may be exalted, when its strong and 
powerful qualities are duly wrought up and refined. The 
solidest bodies are capable of the highest polish ; and 
there is no character that may be wrought to a more ex- 
quisite and unsullied brightness than that of the true 
English gentleman." 

When Guy was about to depart for the army, the 
Squire again took him aside, and gave him a long exhor- 
tation. He warned him against that affectation of cold- 
blooded indifference which he was told was cultivated by 
the young British officers, among whom it was a study to 
"sink the soldier" in the mere man of fashion. "A sol- 
dier," said he, " without pride and enthusiasm in his pro- 
fession, is a mere sanguinary hireling. Nothing distin- 
guishes him from the mercenary bravo but a spirit of 
patriotism, or thirst for glory. It is the fashion, nowa- 



GENTILITY. 165 

days, my son," said he, " to laugh at the spirit of chiv- 
alry ; when that spirit is really extinct, the profession of 
the soldier becomes a mere trade of blood." He then set 
before him the conduct of Edward the Black Prince, 
who is his mirror of chivalry ; valiant, generous, affable, 
humane ; gallant in the field. But when he came to 
dwell on his courtesy toward his prisoner, the king of 
France ; how he received him in his tent, rather as a 
conqueror than as a captive ; attended on him at table 
like one of his retinue ; rode uncovered beside him on 
his entry into London, mounted on a common palfrey, 
while his prisoner was mounted in state on a white 
steed of stately beauty ; the tears of enthusiasm stood 
in the old gentleman's eyes. 

Finally, on taking leave, the good Squire put in his 
son's hands, as a manual, one of his favorite old volumes, 
the " Life of the Chevalier Bayard," by Godefroy ; on a 
blank page of which he had written an extract from the 
Morte d' Arthur, containing the eulogy of Sir Ector over 
the body of Sir Launcelot of the Lake, which the Squire 
considers as comprising the excellencies of a true soldier. 
" Ah, Sir Launcelot ! thou wert head of all Christian 
knights ; now there thou liest : thou were never matched 
of none earthly knights-hands. And thou wert the cur- 
tiest knight that ever bare shield. And thou were the 
truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrood horse ; and 
thou were the truest lover of a sinfull man that ever loved 
woman. And thou were the kindest man that ever strook 



166 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

with, sword ; and tliou were tlie goodliest person tliat ever 
came among tlie presse of knights. And thou were the 
meekest man and the gentlest that ever eate in hall 
among ladies. And thou were the sternest knight to thy 
mortal foe that ever put speare in rest." 



FOETUNE -TELLING. 

Eacli city, eachi town, and every village, 

Affords us either an alms or pillage. 

And if the weather be cold and raw, 

Then in a barn we tumble on straw. 

If warm and fair, by yea-cock and nay-cock. 

The fields will afEord us a hedge or a hay-cock. 

Merry Beggars. 

^^Ml S I was walkiiig one evening witli the Oxonian, 
^^^ Master Simon, and the general, in a meadow 
Pp^il not far from the village, we heard the sound of 
a fiddle, rudely played, and looking in the direction 
whence it came, we saw a thread of smoke curling up 
from among the trees. The sound of music is always 
attractive ; for, wherever there is music, there is good- 
humor, or good-will. "We passed along a footpath, and 
had a peep, through a break in the hedge, at the musi- 
cian and his party, when the Oxonian gave us a wink, 
and told us that if we would follow him, we should have 
some sport. 

It proved to be a gypsy encampment, consisting of 
three or four little cabins or tents, made of blankets and 
sail-cloth, spread over hoops stuck in the ground. It 
was on one side of a green lane, close under a hawthorn 

167 



168 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

hedge, witli a broad beecli-tree spreading above it. A 
small rill tinkled along close by through the fresh sward, 
that looked like a carpet. 

A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece of iron 
over a fire made from dry sticks and leaves, and two old 
gypsies, in red cloaks, sat crouched on the grass, gossip- 
ing over their evening cup of tea; for these creatures, 
though they live in the open air, have their ideas of fire- 
side comforts. There were two or three children sleep- 
ing on the straw with which the tents were littered ; a 
couple of donkeys were grazing in the lane, and a 
thievish-looking dog was lying before the fire. Some of 
the younger gypsies were dancing to the music of a fid- 
dle, played by a tall, slender stripling, in an old frock- 
coat, with a peacock's feather stuck in his hatband. 

As we approached, a gypsy girl, with a pair of fine 
roguish eyes, came up, and, as usual, offered to tell our 
fortunes. I could not but admire a certain degree of 
slattern elegance about the baggage. Her long black 
silken hair was curiously plaited in numerous small 
braids, and negligently put up in a picturesque style that 
a painter might have been proud to have devised. Her 
dress was of figured chintz, rather ragged, and not over- 
clean, but of a variety of most harmonious and agreeable 
colors ; for these beings have a singularly fine eye for 
colors. Her straw hat was in her hand, and a red cloak 
thrown over one arm. 

The Oxonian offered at once to have his fortune told, 



FOBTUNE-TELLINQ. 169 

and the girl began with the usual volubility of her race ; 
but he drew her on one side, near the hedge, as he said 
he had no idea of having his secrets overheard. I saw 
he was talking to her instead of she to him, and by his 
glancing towards us now and then, that he was giving the 
baggage some private hints. When they returned to us, 
he assumed a very serious air. " Zounds ! " said he, 
" it's very astonishing how these creatures come by their 
knowledge ; this girl has told me some things that I 
thought no one knew but myself ! " 

The girl now assailed the general : " Come, your 
honor," said she, " I see by your face you're a lucky 
man; but you're not happy in your mind; you're not, 
indeed, sir : but have a good heart, and give me a good 
piece of silver, and I'll tell you a nice fortune." 

The general had received all her approaches with a 
banter, and had suffered her to get hold of his hand ; but 
at the mention of the piece of silver, he hemmed, looked 
grave, and turning to us, asked if we had not better con- 
tinue our walk. " Come, my master," said the girl, 
archly, " you'd not be in such a hurry if you knew all 
that I could tell you about a fair lady that has a notion 
for you. Come, sir, old love burns strong ; there's many 
a one comes to see weddings that go away brides them- 
selves ! " — Here the girl whispered something in a low 
voice, at which the general colored up, was a little flut- 
tered, and suffered himself to be drawn aside under the 
hedge, where he appeared to listen to her with great 



170 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

earnestness, and at the end paid her half-a-crown with 
the air of a man that has got the worth of his money. 

The girl next made her attack upon Master Simon, 
who, however, was too old a bird to be caught, knowing 
that it would end in an attack upon his purse, about 
which he is a little sensitive. As he has a great notion, 
however, of being considered a roister, he chucked her 
under the chin, played her off with rather broad jokes, 
and put on something of the rake-helly air that we see 
now and then assumed on the stage by the sad-boy gen- 
tlemen of the old school. " Ah, your honor," said the 
girl, with a malicious leer, " you were not in such a tan- 
trum last year, when I told you about the widow, you 
know who ; but if you had taken a friend's advice, you'd 
never have come away from Doncaster races with a flea 
in your ear ! " 

There was a secret sting in this speech that seemed 
quite to disconcert Master Simon. He jerked away his 
hand in a pet, smacked his whip, whistled to his dogs, 
and intimated that it was high time to go home. The 
girl, however, was determined not to lose her harvest. 
She now turned upon me, and, as I have a weakness of 
spirit where there is a pretty face concerned, she soon 
wheedled me out of my money, and, in return, read me 
a fortune ; which, if it prove true, and I am determined 
to believe it, will make me one of the luckiest men in the 
chronicles of Cupid. 

I saw that the Oxonian was at the bottom of all this 



FORTUNE-TELLING. 171 

oracular mystery, and was disposed to amuse liimself 
witli the general, whose tender approaches to the widow 
have attracted the notice of the wag. I was a little 
curious, however, to know the meaning of the dark hints 
which had so suddenly disconcerted Master Simon ; and 
took occasion to fall in the rear with the Oxonian on our 
way home, when he laughed heartily at my questions, 
and gave me ample information on the subject. 

The truth of the matter is, that Master Simon has met 
with a sad rebuff since my Christmas visit to the Hall. 
He used at that time to be joked about a widow, a fine 
dashing woman, as he privately informed me. I had 
supposed the pleasure he betrayed on these occasions, 
resulted from the usual fondness of old bachelors for 
being teased about getting married, and about flirting, 
and being fickle and false-hearted. I am assured, how- 
ever, that Master Simon had really persuaded himself 
the widow had a kindness for him ; in consequence of 
which he had been at some extraordinary expense in new 
clothes, and had actually got Frank Bracebridge to order 
him a coat from Stultz. He began to throw out hints 
about the importance of a man's settling himself in life 
before he grew old ; he would look grave whenever the 
widow and matrimony were mentioned in the same sen- 
tence ; and privately asked the opinion of the Squire and 
parson about the prudence of marrying a widow with a 
rich jointure, but who had several children. 

An important member of a great family connection 



172 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

cannot harp mucli upon the theme of matrimony without 
its taking wind ; and it soon got buzzed about that Mr. 
Simon Bracebridge was actually gone to Doncaster races, 
with a new horse ; but that he meant to return in a cur- 
ricle with a lady by his side. Master Simon did, indeed, 
go to the races, and that with a new horse ; and the 
dashing widow did make her appearance in her curricle ; 
but it was unfortunately driven by a strapping young 
Irish dragoon, with whom even Master Simon's self- 
complacency would not allow him to venture into compe- 
tition, and to whom she was married shortly afterwards. 

It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Simon for 
several months, having never before been fully com- 
mitted. The dullest head in the family had a joke upon 
him ; and there is no one that likes less to be bantered 
than an absolute joker. He took refuge for a time at 
Lady Lillycraft's until the matter should blow over; 
and occupied himself by looking over her accounts, regu- 
lating the village choir, and inculcating loyalty into a 
pet bullfinch, by teaching him to whistle " God save the 
King." 

He has now pretty nearly recovered from the mortifi- 
cation ; holds up his head, and laughs as much as any 
one ; again affects to pity married men, and is particu- 
larly facetious about widows, when Lady Lilly craft is 
not by. His only time of trial is when the general gets 
hold of him, who is infinitely heavy and persevering in 
his waggery, and will interweave a dull joke through the 



FOBTUNE-TELLING. 173 

various topics of a whole dinner-time. Master Simon 
often parries these attacks by a stanza from his old 
work of " Cupid's Solicitor for Love " : 

' 'Tis in vain to wooe a widow over long, 

In once or twice her mind you may perceive ; 
Widows are subtle, be they old or young. 
And by their wiles young men they will deceive." 



LOVE-CHARMS. 



Come, do not weep, my girl. 



Forget him, pretty pensiveness ; there will 
Come others, every day, as good as he. 

Sir J. Suckling. 




HE approacli of a wedding in a family is always 
an event of great importance, but particularly 
so in a household like this, in a retired part of 
the country. Master Simon, who is a pervading spirit, 
and, through means of the butler and housekeeper, 
knows everything that goes forward, tells me that the 
maid-servants are continually trying their fortunes, and 
that the servants'-hall has of late been quite a scene of 
incantation. 

It is amusing to notice how the oddities of the head of 
a family flow down through all the branches. The 
Squire, in the indulgence of his love of everything which 
smacks of old times, has held so many grave conversa- 
tions with the parson at table, about popular supersti- 
tions and traditional rites, that they have been carried 
from the parlor to the kitchen by the listening domes- 
tics, and, being apparently sanctioned by such high 
authority, the whole house has become infected by them. 

174 



L0VE-CEABM8. 175 

Tlie servants are all versed in the common modes of 
trying luck, and tlie charms to insure constancy. They 
read their fortunes by drawing strokes in the ashes, or 
by repeating a form of words, and looking in a pail of 
water. St. Mark's Eve, I am told, was a busy time with 
them ; being an appointed night for certain mystic cere- 
monies. Several of them sowed hemp-seed to be reaped 
by their true lovers ; and they even ventured upon the 
solemn and fearful preparation of the dumb-cake. This 
must be done fasting, and in silence. The ingredients are 
handed down in traditional form. " An eggshell full of 
salt, an egg-shell full of malt, and an eggshell full of 
barley-meal." "When the cake is ready, it is put upon a 
pan over the fire, and the future husband will appear, 
turn the cake, and retire ; but if a word is spoken, or a 
fast is broken, during this awful ceremony, there is no 
knowing what horrible consequences would ensue ! 

The experiments, in the present instance, came to no 
result ; they that sowed the hemp-seed forgot the magic 
rhyme that they were to pronounce, so the true lover 
never appeared ; and as to the dumb-cake, what between 
the awful stillness they had to keep, and the awfulness of 
the midnight hour, their hearts failed them when they 
had put the cake in the pan ; so that, on the striking 
of the great house-clock in the servants'-hall, they were 
seized with a sudden panic, and ran out of the room, to 
which they did not return until morning, when they 
found the mystic cake burnt to a cinder. 



176 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

The most persevering at these spells, however, is 
Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's niece. As she is a 
kind of privileged personage, and rather idle, she has 
more time to occupy herself with these matters. She has 
always had her head full of love and matrimony. She 
knows the dream-book by heart, and is quite an oracle 
among the little girls of the family, who always come to 
her to interpret their dreams in the mornings. 

During the present gayety of the house, however, the 
poor girl has worn a face full of trouble ; and, to use the 
housekeeper's words, " has fallen into a sad hystericky 
way lately." It seems that she was born and brought up 
in the village, where her father was parish clerk, and she 
was an early playmate and sweetheart of young Jack 
Tibbets. Since she has come to live at the Hall, how- 
ever, her head has been a little turned. Being very 
pretty, and naturally genteel, she has been much noticed 
and indulged ; and being the housekeeper's niece, she has 
held an equivocal station between a servant and a com- 
panion. She has learnt something of fashions and no- 
tions among the young ladies, which have effected quite 
a metamorphosis; insomuch that her finery at church 
on Sundays has given mortal offence to her former inti- 
mates in the village. This has occasioned the misrepre- 
sentations which have awakened the implacable family 
pride of Dame Tibbets. But what is worse, Phoebe, 
having a spice of coquetry in her disposition, showed it 
on one or two occasions to her lover, which produced a 



LO VE-CHABM8. 177 

downriglit quarrel ; and Jack, being very proud and fiery, 
has absolutely turned his back upon her for several 
successive Sundays. 

The poor girl is full of sorrow and repentance, and 
would fain make up with her lover; but he feels his 
security, and stands aloof. In this he is doubtless en- 
couraged by his mother, who is continually reminding 
him what he owes to his family ; for this same family 
pride seems doomed to be the eternal bane of lovers. 

As I hate to see a pretty face in trouble, I have felt 
quite concerned fcfr the luckless Phoebe, ever since I 
heard her story. It is a sad thing to be thwarted in love 
at any time, but particularly so at this tender season of 
the year, when every living thing, even to the very but- 
terfly, is sporting -^ith its mate ; and the green fields, and 
the budding groves, and the singing of the birds, and the 
sweet smell of the flowers, are enough to turn the head 
of a love-sick girl. I am told that the coolness of young 
Ready-Money lies very heavy at poor Phoebe's heart. In- 
stead of singing about the house as formerly, she goes 
about pale and sighing, and is apt to break into tears 
when her companions are full of merriment. 

Mrs. Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my Lady 

Lillycraft, has had long talks and walks with Phoebe, up 

and down the avenue, of an evening ; and has endeavored 

to squeeze some of her own verjuice into the other's 

milky nature. She speaks with contempt and abhorrence 

of the whole sex, and advises Phoebe to despise all the 
12 



178 BBAGEBBIBGE HALL. 

men as heartily as slie does. But Phoebe's loving temper 
is not to be curdled ; she has no such thing as hatred or 
contempt for mankind in her whole composition. She 
has all the simple fondness of heart of poor, weak, loving 
woman ; and her only thoughts at present are, how to 
conciliate and reclaim her wayward swain. 

The spells and love-charms, which are matters of sport 
to the other domestics, are serious concerns with this 
love-stricken damsel. She is continually trying her for- 
tune in a variety of ways. I am told that she has abso- 
lutely fasted for six Wednesdays and three Fridays suc- 
cessively, having understood that it was a sovereign 
charm to insure being married to one's liking within the 
year. She carries about, also, a lock of her sweetheart's 
hair, and a riband he once gave her, being a mode of pro- 
ducing constancy in a lover. She even went so far as to 
try her fortune by the moon, which has always had much 
to do with lovers' dreams and fancies. For this purpose 
she went out in the night of the full moon, knelt on a 
stone in the meadow, and repeated the old traditional 
rhyme : 

"All hail to thee, moon, all hail to thee ; 
I pray thee, good moon, now show to me 
The youth who my future husband shall be." 

When she came back to the house, she was faint and 
pale, and went immediately to bed. The next morning 
she told the porter's wife that she had seen some one 



LOVE-GHAItMS. 179 

close by the hedge in the meadow, which she was sure 
was young Tibbets ; at any rate, she had dreamt of him 
all night ; both of which, the old dame assured her, were 
most happy signs. It has since turned out that the per- 
son in the meadow was old Christy, the huntsman, who 
was walking his nightly rounds with the great stag- 
hound ; so that Phoebe's faith in the charm is completely 
shaken. 



THE LIBEARY. 




ESTEEDAY the fair Julia made her first ap- 
pearance down-stairs since her accident; and 
the sight of her spread an universal cheerful- 
ness through the household. She was extremely pale, 
however, and could not walk without pain and difficulty. 
She was assisted, therefore, to a sofa in the library, which 
is pleasant and retired, looking out among trees, and so 
quiet that the little birds come hopping upon the win- 
dows, and peering curiously into the apartment. Here 
several of the family gathered round, and devised means 
to amuse her, and make the day pass pleasantly. Lady 
Lillycraft lamented the want of some new novel to while 
away the time ; and was almost in a pet, because the 
" Author of Waverley " had not produced a work for the 
last three months. 

There was a motion made to call on the parson for 
some of his old legends or ghost-stories ; but to this Lady 
Lillycraft objected, as they were apt to give her the 
vapors. General Harbottle gave a minute account, for 
the sixth time, of the disaster of a friend in India, who 
had his leg bitten off by a tiger whilst he was hunting, — 

180 



THE LIBBABY. 181 

and was proceeding to menace the company with a chap- 
ter or two about Tippoo Saib. 

At length the captain bethought himself, and said he 
believed he had a manuscript tale lying in one corner of 
his campaigning trunk, which, if he could find, and the 
company were desirous, he would read to them. The 
offer was eagerly accepted. He retired, and soon re- 
turned with a roll of blotted manuscript, in a very gentle- 
manlike, but nearly illegible hand, and a great part writ- 
ten on cartridge paper. 

" It is one of the scribblings," said he, " of my poor 
friend, Charles Lightly, of the dragoons. He was a curi- 
ous, romantic, studious, fanciful fellow ; the favorite, and 
often the unconscious butt of his fellow-officers, who en- 
tertained themselves with his eccentricities. He was in 
some of the hardest service in the peninsula, and distin- 
guished himself by his gallantry. When the intervals of 
duty permitted, he was fond of roving about the country, 
visiting noted places, and was extremely fond of Moorish 
ruins. When at his quarters, he was a great scribbler, 
and passed much of his leisure with his pen in his hand. 

" As I was a much younger officer, and a very young 
man, he took me, in a manner, under his care, and we be- 
came close friends. He used often to read his writings to 
me, having a great confidence in my taste, for I always 
praised them. Poor fellow ! he was shot down close by 
me at Waterloo. We lay wounded together for some time 
during a hard contest that took place near at hand. As 



182 BRACEBRIBGE HALL. 

I was least hurt, I tried to relieve him, and to stanch the 
blood which flowed from a wound in his breast. He lay 
with his head in my lap, and looked up thankfully in my 
face, but shook his head faintly, and made a sign that it 
was all over with him ; and, indeed, he died a few min- 
utes afterwards, just as our men had repulsed the enemy, 
and came to our relief. I have his favorite dog and his 
pistols to this day, and several of his manuscripts, which 
he gave to me at different times. The one I am now go- 
ing to read is a tale which he said he wrote in Spain, 
during the time that he lay ill of a wound received at 
Salamanca." 

We now arranged ourselves to hear the story. The 
captain seated himself on the sofa, beside the fair Julia, 
who I had noticed to be somewhat affected by the picture 
he had carelessly drawn of wounds and dangers in a field 
of battle. She now leaned her arm fondly on his shoul- 
der, and her eye glistened as it rested on the manuscript 
of the poor literary dragoon. Lady Lillycraft buried her- 
self in a deep, well-cushioned elbow-chair. Her dogs 
were nestled on soft mats at her feet, and the gallant 
general took his station in an arm-chair at her side, and 
toyed with her elegantly ornamented work-bag. The rest 
of the circle being all equally well accommodated, the 
captain began his story ; a copy of which I have procured 
for the benefit of the reader. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 

What a life doe I lead with my master ; nothing but blowing of bellowes, 
beating of spirits, and scraping of croslets ! It is a very secret science, for 
none almost can understand the language of it. Sublimation, almigation, cal- 
cination, rubiflcation, albification, and fermentation ; with as many termes 
unpossible to be uttered as the arte to be compassed. — Lilly's Gallathea. 



NCE upon a time, in the ancient city of Gre- 
nada, there sojourned a young man of the name 
of Antonio de Castros. He wore the garb of a 
student of Salamanca, and was pursuing a course of read- 
ing in the library of the university ; and, at intervals of 
leisure, indulging his curiosity by examining those re- 
mains of Moorish magnificence for which Grenada is 
renowned. 

Whilst occupied in his studies, he frequently noticed 
an old man of singular appearance, who was likewise 
a visitor to the library. He was lean and withered, 
though apparently more from study than from age. His 
eyes, though bright and visionary, were sunk in his head, 
and thrown into shade by overhanging eyebrows. His 
dress was always the same, — a black doublet, a short 
black coat, very rusty and threadbare, a small ruff, and a 
large overshadowing hat. 

183 



184 BBACEBBIDGE EALL. 

His appetite for knowledge seemed insatiable. He 
would pass whole days in the library, absorbed in study, 
consulting a multiplicity of authors, as though he were 
pursuing some interesting subject through all its ramifi- 
cations ; so that, when evening came, he was almost 
buried among books and manuscripts. 

The curiosity of Antonio was excited, and he inquired 
of the attendants concerning the stranger. No one could 
give him any information, excepting that he had been for 
some time past a casual frequenter of the library ; that 
his reading lay chiefly among works treating of the oc- 
cult sciences, and that he was particularly curious in his 
inquiries after Arabian manuscripts. They added, that 
he never held communication with any one, excepting to 
ask for particular works ; that, after a fit of studious ap- 
plication, he would disappear for several days, and even 
weeks, and when he revisited the library, he would look 
more withered and haggard than ever. The student felt 
interested by this account ; he was leading rather a de- 
sultory life, and had all that capricious curiosity which 
springs up in idleness. He determined to make himself 
acquainted with this book-worm, and find out who and 
what he was. 

The next time that he saw the old man at the library, 
he commenced his approaches by requesting permission 
to look into one of the volumes with which the un- 
known appeared to have done. The latter merely bowed 
his head in token of assent. After pretending to look 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 185 

through the volume with great attention, he returned it 
with many acknowledgments. The stranger made no 
reply. 

"May I ask, senor," said Antonio, with some hesita- 
tion, " may I ask what you are searching after in all 
these books ? " 

The old man raised his head, with an expression of 
surprise at having his studies interrupted for the first 
time, and by so intrusive a question. He surveyed the 
student with a side-glance from head to foot : " Wis- 
dom, my son," said he, calmly: "and the search requires 
every moment of my attention." He then cast his eyes 
upon his book and resumed his studies. 

"But, father," said Antonio, "cannot you spare a mo- 
ment to point out the road to others? It is to experi- 
enced travellers, like you, that we strangers in the path of 
knowledge must look for directions on our journey." 

The stranger looked disturbed : "I have not time 
enough, my son, to learn," said he, "much less to teach. 
I am ignorant myself of the path of true knowledge ; 
how then can I show it to others ? " 

"Well, but father" 

" Seiior," said the old man, mildly, but earnestly, " you 
must see that I have but a few more steps to the grave. 
In that short space have I to accomplish the whole busi- 
ness of my existence. I have no time for words ; every 
word is as one grain of sand of my glass wasted. Suffer 
me to be alone." 



186 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

There was no replying to so complete a closing of tlie 
door of intimacy. The student found himself calmly but 
totally repulsed. Though curious and inquisitive, he was 
naturally modest, and on after-thoughts blushed at his 
own intrusion. His mind soon became occupied by other 
objects. He passed several days wandering among the 
mouldering piles of Moorish, architecture, those melan- 
choly monuments of an elegant and voluptuous people. 
He paced the deserted halls of the Alhambra, the para- 
dise of the Moorish kings. He visited the great court of 
the lions, famous for the perfidious massacre of the gal- 
lant Abencerrages. He gazed with admiration at its 
Mosaic cupolas, gorgeously painted in gold and azure ; 
its basins of marble, its alabaster vase, supported by 
lions, and storied with inscriptions. 

His imagination kindled as he wandered among these 
scenes. They were calculated to awaken all the enthusi- 
asm of a youthful mind. Most of the halls have ancient- 
ly been beautified by fountains. The fine taste of the 
Arabs delighted in the sparkling purity and reviving 
freshness of water, and they erected, as it were, altars 
on every side, to that delicate element. Poetry mingles 
with architecture in the Alhambra. It breathes along 
the very walls. Wherever Antonio turned his eye, he 
beheld inscriptions in Arabic, wherein the perpetuity of 
Moorish power and splendor within these walls was con- 
fidently predicted. Alas! how has the prophecy been 
falsified ! Many of the basins, where the fountains had 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 187 

once thrown up their ^ sparkling showers, were dry and 
dusty. Some of the palaces were turned into gloomy 
convents, and the barefoot monk paced through those 
courts which had once glittered with the array and 
echoed to the music of Moorish chivalry. 

In the course of his rambles, the student more than 
once encountered the old man of the library. He was 
always alone, and so full of thought as not to notice any 
one about him. He appeared to be intent upon studying 
those half-buried inscriptions, which are found, here and 
there, among the Moorish ruins, and seem to murmur 
from the earth the tale of former greatness. The greater 
part of these have since been translated ; but they were 
supposed by many, at the time, to contain symbolical 
revelations, and golden maxims of the Arabian sages and 
astrologers. As Antonio saw the stranger apparently de- 
ciphering these inscriptions, he felt an eager longing to 
make his acquaintance, and to participate in his curious 
researches ; but the repulse he had met with at the libra- 
ry deterred him from making any further advances. 

He had directed his steps one evening to the sacred 
mount which overlooks the beautiful valley watered by 
the Darro, the fertile plains of the Vega, and all that rich 
diversity of vale and mountain which surrounds Grenada 
with an earthly paradise. It was twilight when he found 
himself at the place where, at the present day, are situ- 
ated the chapels known by the name of the Sacred Fur- 
naces. They are so called from grottos, in which some of 



188 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

the primitive saints are said to have been burnt. At the 
time of Antonio's visit the place was an object of much 
curiosity. In an excavation of these grottos, several 
manuscripts had recently been discovered, engraved on 
plates of lead. They were written in the Arabian lan- 
guage, excepting one, which was in unknown characters. 
The Pope had issued a bull forbidding any one, under 
pain of excommunication, to speak of these manuscripts. 
The prohibition had only excited the greater curiosity ; 
and many reports were whispered about, that these 
manuscripts contained treasures of dark and forbidden 
knowledge. 

As Antonio was examining the place whence these 
mysterious manuscripts had been drawn, he again ob- 
served the old man of the library wandering among the 
ruins. His curiosity was now fully awakened ; the time 
and place served to stimulate it. He resolved to watch 
this groper after secret and forgotten lore, and to trace 
him to his habitation. There was something like adven- 
ture in the thing, which charmed his romantic disposi- 
tion. He followed the stranger, therefore, at a little dis- 
tance ; at first cautiously, but he soon observed him to be 
so wrapped in his own thoughts, as to take little heed of 
external objects. 

They passed along the skirts of the mountain, and then 
by the shady banks of the Darro. They pursued their 
way, for some distance from Grenada, along a lonely road 
leading among the hills. The gloom of evening was gath- 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 189 

ering, and it was quite dark when tlie stranger stopped 
at tlie portal of a solitary mansion. 

It appeared to be a mere wing, or ruined fragment, of 
what had once been a pile of some consequence. The 
walls were of great thickness, the windows narrow, and 
generally secured by iron bars. The door was of planks, 
studded with iron spikes, and had been of great strength, 
though at present much decayed. At one end of the 
mansion was a ruinous tower, in the Moorish style of 
architecture. The edifice had probably been a country 
retreat, or castle of pleasure, during the occupation 
of Grenada by the Moors, and rendered sufficiently 
strong to withstand any casual assault in those warlike 
times. 

The old man knocked at the portal. A light appeared 
at a small window just above it, and a female head looked 
out : it might have served as a model for one of Rapha- 
el's saints. The hair was beautifully braided, and gath- 
ered in a silken net ; and the complexion, as well as 
could be judged from the light, was that soft, rich bru- 
nette so becoming in southern beauty. 

"It is I, my child," said the old man. The face in- 
stantly disappeared, and soon after a wicket-door in the 
large portal opened. Antonio, who had ventured near to 
the building, caught a transient sight of a delicate female 
form. A pair of fine black eyes darted a look of surprise 
at seeing a stranger hovering near, and the door was pre- 
cipitately closed. 



190 BRAOEBRIDQE HALL. 

There was sometJiing in this sudden gleam of beauty 
that wonderfully struck the imagination of the student. 
It was like a brilliant flashing from its dark casket. He 
sauntered about, regarding the gloomy pile with increas- 
ing interest. A few simple, wild notes, from among some 
rocks and trees at a little distance, attracted his atten- 
tion. He found there a group of Gitanas, a vagabond 
gypsy race, which at that time abounded in Spain, and 
lived in hovels and caves of the hills about the neighbor- 
hood of Grenada. Some were busy about a fire, and 
others were listening to the uncouth music which one of 
their companions, seated on a ledge of the rock, was 
making with a split reed. 

Antonio endeavored to obtain some information of 
them concerning the old building and its inhabitants. 
The one who appeared to be their spokesman was a 
gaunt fellow, with a subtle gait, a whispering voice, and 
a sinister roll of the eye. He shrugged his shoulders on 
the student's inquiries, and said, " All was not right in 
that building. An old man inhabited it, whom nobody 
knew, and whose family appeared to be only a daughter 
and a female servant. I and my companions," he added, 
" live up among the neighboring hills ; and as we have 
been about at night, we have often seen strange lights 
and heard strange sounds from the tower. Some of the 
country people, who work in the vineyards among the 
hills, believe the old man deals in the black art, and they 
are not over-fond of passing near the tower at night. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 191 

But for our parts, we Gitanas are not a people to trouble 
ourselves with fears of that kind." 

The student endeavored to gain more precise informa- 
tion, but they had none to furnish him. They began to 
be solicitous for a compensation for what they had al- 
ready imparted; and recollecting the loneliness of the 
place, and the vagabond character of his companions, he 
was glad to give them a gratuity and hasten homewards. 

He sat down to his studies, but his brain was too full 
of what he had seen and heard ; his eye was upon the 
page, but his fancy still returned to the tower, and he 
was continually picturing the little window, with the 
beautiful head peeping out ; or the door half open, and 
the nymph-like form within. He retired to bed, but the 
same objects haunted his dreams. He was young and 
susceptible ; and the excited state of his feelings, from 
wandering among the abodes of departed grace and gal- 
lantry, had predisposed him for a sudden impression 
from female beauty. 

The next morning he strolled again in the direction of 
the tower. It was still more forlorn by the broad glare 
of day than in the gloom of evening. The walls were 
crumbling, and weeds and moss were growing in every 
crevice. It had the look of a prison rather than a dwell- 
ing-house. In one angle, however, he remarked a win- 
dow which seemed an exception to the surrounding 
squalidness. There was a curtain drawn within it, and 
flowers standing on the window-stone. "Whilst he was 



192 BBACEBRIDOE HALL. 

looking at it, the curtain was partially withdrawn, and a 
delicate white arm, of the most beautiful roundness, was 
put forth to water the flowers. 

The student made a noise to attract the attention of 
the fair florist. He succeeded. The curtain was further 
drawn, and he had a glance of the same lovely face he 
had seen the evening before ; it was but a mere glance ; 
the curtain again fell, and the casement closed. All this 
was calculated to excite the feelings of a romantic youth. 
Had he seen the unknown under other circumstances, it 
is probable he would not have been struck with her 
beauty ; but this appearance of being shut up and kept 
apart gave her the value of a treasured gem. He passed 
and repassed before the house several times in the course 
of the day, but saw nothing more. He was there again 
in the evening. The whole aspect of the house was 
dreary. The narrow windows emitted no rays of cheer- 
ful light, to indicate social life within. Antonio listened 
at the portal, but no sound of voices reached his ear. 
Just then he heard the clapping to of a distant door, and 
fearing to be detected in the unworthy act of eavesdrop- 
ping, he precipitately drew off to the opposite side of the 
road, and stood in the shadow of a ruined archway. 

He now remarked a light from a window in the tower. 
It was fitful and changeable ; commonly feeble and yel- 
lowish, as if from a lamp ; with an occasional glare of 
some vivid metallic color, followed by a dusky glow. A 
column of dense smoke would now and then rise in the 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. I93 

air, and hang like a canopy over tlie tower. There was 
altogether such a loneliness and seeming mystery about 
the building and its inhabitants, that Antonio was half 
inclined to indulge the country people's notions, and to 
fancy it the den of some powerful sorcerer, and the fair 
damsel he had seen to be some spellbound beauty. 

After some time had elapsed, a light appeared in the 
window where he had seen the beautiful arm. The cur- 
tain was down, but it was so thin that he could perceive 
the shadow of some one passing and repassing between 
it and the light. He fancied he could distinguish that 
the form was delicate ; and from the alacrity of its move- 
ments, it was evidently youthful. He had not a doubt 
but this was the bedchamber of his beautiful unknown. 

Presently he heard the sound of a guitar, and a female 
voice singing. He drew near cautiously, and listened. It 
was a plaintive Moorish ballad, and he recognized in it 
the lamentations of one of the Abencerrages on leaving 
the walls of lovely Grenada. It was full of passion and 
tenderness. It spoke of the delights of early life ; the 
hours of love it had enjoyed on the banks of the Darro, 
and among the blissful abodes of the Alhambra. It be- 
wailed the fallen honors of the Abencerrages, and im- 
precated vengeance on their oppressors. Antonio was 
affected by the music. It singularly coincided with the 
place. It was like the voice of past times echoed in the 
present, and breathing among the monuments of its 

departed glories. 
13 



194 BBACEBRIBGE HALL. 

The voice ceased ; after a time the light disappeared, 
and all was still. "She sleeps!" said Antonio, fondly. 
He lingered about the building with the devotion with 
which a lover lingers about the bower of sleeping beauty. 
The rising moon threw its silver beams on the gray 
walls, and glittered on the casement. The late gloomy 
landscape gradually became flooded with its radiance. 
Finding, therefore, that he could no longer move about 
in obscurity, and fearful that his loiterings might be 
observed, he reluctantly retired. 

The curiosity which had at first drawn the young man 
to the tower was now seconded by feelings of a more ro- 
mantic kind. His studies were almost entirely abandoned. 
He maintained a kind of blockade of the old mansion ; he 
would take a book with him, and pass a great part of the 
day under the trees in its vicinity ; keeping a vigilant eye 
upon it, and endeavoring to ascertain what were the walks 
of his mysterious charmer. She never went out, how- 
ever, except to mass, when she was accompanied by her 
father. He waited at the door of the church, and offered 
her the holy water, in the hopes of touching her hand : 
a little office of gallantry common in Catholic countries. 
She modestly declined, without raising her eyes to see 
who made the offer, and always took it herself from the 
font. She was attentive in her devotion ; her eyes were 
never taken from the altar or the priest ; and on return- 
ing home, her countenance was almost entirely concealed 
by her maijitilla. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 195 

Antonio had now carried on the pursuit for several 
days, and was hourly getting more and more interested 
in the chase, but never a step nearer to the game. His 
lurkings about the house had probably been noticed, for 
he no longer saw the fair face at the window, nor the 
white arm put forth to water the flowers. His only con- 
solation was to repair nightly to his post of observation 
and listen to her warbling; and if by chance he could 
catch a sight of her shadow, passing and repassing be- 
fore the window, he thought himself most fortunate. 

As he was indulging in one of these evening vigils, 
which were complete revels of the imagination, the sound 
of approaching footsteps made him withdraw into the 
deep shadow of the ruined archway, opposite to the 
tower. A cavalier approached, wrapped in a large Span- 
ish cloak. He paused under the window of the tower, 
and after a little while began a serenade, accompanied by 
his guitar, in the usual style of Spanish gallantry. His 
voice was rich and manly; he touched the instrument 
with skill, and sang with amorous and impassioned elo- 
quence. The plume of his hat was buckled by jewels 
that sparkled in the moonbeams ; and, as he played on 
the guitar, his cloak falling off from one shoulder showed 
him to be richly dressed. He was evidently a person of 
rank. 

The idea now flashed across Antonio's mind, that the 
affections of his unknown beauty might be engaged. She 
was young, and doubtless susceptible ; and it was not in 



196 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

the nature of Spanisli females to be deaf and insensible 
to music and admiration. Tlie surmise brouglit with it a 
feeling of dreariness. There was a pleasant dream of 
several days suddenly dispelled. He had never before 
experienced anything of the tender passion ; and, as its 
morning dreams are always delightful, he would fain have 
continued in the delusion. 

" But what have I to do with her attachments ? " 
thought he ; " I have no claim on her heart, nor even on 
her acquaintance. How do I know that she is worthy of 
affection? Or if she is, must not so gallant a lover as 
this, with his jewels, his rank, and his detestable music, 
have completely captivated her? What idle humor is 
this that I have fallen into ? I must again to my books. 
Study, study will soon chase away all these idle fan- 
cies ! " 

The more he thought, however, the more he became 
entangled in the spell which his lively imagination had 
woven round him ; and now that a rival had appeared, in 
addition to the other obstacles that environed this en- 
chanted beauty, she appeared ten times more lovely and 
desirable. It was some slight consolation to him to per- 
ceive that the gallantry of the unknown met with no ap- 
parent return from the tower. The light at the window 
was extinguished. The curtain remained undrawn, and 
none of the customary signals were given to intimate that 
the serenade was accepted. 

The cavalier lingered for some time about the place, 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 197 

and sang several other tender airs with a taste and feel- 
ing that made Antonio's heart ache ; at length he slowly 
retired. The student remained with folded arms, leaning 
against the ruined arch, endeavoring to summon up reso- 
lution to depart; but a romantic fascination still en- 
chained him to the place. "It is the last time," said he, 
willing to compromise between his feelings and his judg- 
ment, " it is the last time ; then let me enjoy the dream a 
few moments longer." 

As his eye ranged about the old building to take a 
farewell look, he observed the strange light in the tower, 
which he had noticed on a former occasion. It kept 
beaming up, and declining, as before. A pillar of smoke 
rose in the air, and hung in sable volumes. It was evi- 
dent the old man was busied in some of those operations 
which had gained him the reputation of a sorcerer 
throughout the neighborhood. 

Suddenly an intense and brilliant glare shone through 
the casement, followed by a loud report, and then a 
fierce and ruddy glow. A figure appeared at the win- 
dow, uttering cries of agony or alarm, but immediately 
disappeared, and a body of smoke and flame whirled out 
of the narrow aperture. Antonio rushed to the portal, 
and knocked at it with vehemence. He was only an- 
swered by loud shrieks, and found that the females were 
already in helpless consternation. "With an exertion of 
desperate strength, he forced the wicket from its hinges, 
and rushed into the house. 



198 BRACEBRIDQE HALL. 

He found himself in a small vaulted hall, and by the 
light of the moon which entered at the door, he saw a 
staircase to the left. He hurried up it to a narrow cor- 
ridor, through which was rolling a volume of smoke. 
He found here the two females in a frantic state of 
alarm ; one of them clasped her hands, and implored him 
to save her father. 

The corridor terminated in a spiral flight of steps, 
leading up to the tower. He sprang up it to a small 
door, through the chinks of which came a glow of light, 
and smoke was spuming out. He burst it open, and 
found himself in an antique vaulted chamber, furnished 
with furnace, and various chemical apparatus. A shat- 
tered retort lay on the stone floor ; a quantity of combus- 
tibles, nearly consumed, with various half-burnt books 
and papers, were sending up an expiring flame, and fill- 
ing the chamber with stifling smoke. Just within the 
threshold lay the reputed conjurer. He was bleeding, 
his clothes were scorched, and he appeared lifeless. 
Antonio caught him up, and bore him down the stairs to 
a chamber in which there was a light, and laid him on a 
bed. The female domestic was dispatched for such ap- 
pliances as the house afforded ; but the daughter threw 
herself frantically beside her parent, and could not be 
reasoned out of her alarm. Her dress was all in dis- 
order ; her dishevelled hair hung in rich confusion about 
her neck and bosom, and never was there beheld a love- 
lier picture of terror and affliction. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 199 

Tlie skilful assiduities of tlie scholar soon produced 
signs of returning animation in his patient. The old 
man's wounds, though severe, were not dangerous. 
They had evidently been produced by the bursting of 
the retort ; in his bewilderment he had been enveloped 
in the stifling metallic vapors which had overpowered his 
feeble frame, and had not Antonio arrived to his assist- 
ance, it is possible he might never have recovered. 

By slow degrees he came to his senses. He looked 
about with a bewildered air at the chamber, the agitated 
group around, and the student who was leaning over 
him. 

" Where am I ? " said he, wildly. 

At the sound of his voice his daughter uttered a faint 
exclamation of delight. " My poor Inez ! " said he, em- 
bracing her; then putting his hand to his head, and 
taking it away stained with blood, he seemed suddenly 
to recollect himself, and to be overcome with emotion. 

" Ah ! " cried he, " all is over with me ! all gone ! all 
vanished ! gone in a moment ! the labor of a lifetime lost ! " 

His daughter attempted to soothe him, but he became 
slightly delirious, and raved incoherently about malig- 
nant demons, and about the habitation of the green lion 
being destroyed. His wounds being dressed, and such 
other remedies administered as his situation required, he 
sank into a state of quiet. Antonio now turned his atten- 
tion to the daughter, whose sufferings had been little in- 
ferior to those of her father. Having with great difficulty 



200 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

succeeded in tranquillizing her fears, lie endeavored to 
prevail upon lier to retire, and seek tlie repose so neces- 
sary to her frame, proffering to remain by her father until 
morning. "I am a stranger," said he, "it is true, and my 
offer may appear intrusive ; but I see you are lonely and 
helpless, and I cannot help venturing over the limits of 
mere ceremony. Should you feel any scruple or doubt, 
however, say but a word, and I will instantly retire." 

There was a frankness, a kindness, and a modesty min- 
gled in Antonio's deportment, which inspired instant con- 
fidence ; and his simple scholar's garb was a recommen- 
dation in the house of poverty. The females consented 
to resign the sufferer to his care, as they would be the 
better able to attend to him on the morrow. On retir- 
ing, the old domestic was profuse in her benedictions ; 
the daughter only looked her thanks ; but as they shone 
through the tears that filled her fine black eyes, the stu- 
dent thought them a thousand times the most eloquent. 

Here, then, he was, by a singular turn of chance, com- 
pletely housed within this mysterious mansion. When 
left to himself, and the bustle of the scene was over, his 
heart throbbed as he looked round the chamber in which 
he was sitting. It was the daughter's room, the promised 
land toward which he had cast so many a longing gaze. 
The furniture was old, and had probably belonged to the 
building in its prosperous days ; but everything was ar- 
ranged with propriety. The flowers which he had seen 
her attend stood in the window ; a guitar leaned against a 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 201 

table, on which, stood a crucifix, and before it lay a missal 
and a rosary. There reigned an air of purity and serenity 
about this little nestling-place of innocence ; it was the 
emblem of a chaste and quiet mind. Some few articles of 
female dress lay on the chairs ; and there was the very 
bed on which she had slept ; the pillow on which her soft 
cheek had reclined ! The poor scholar was threading en- 
chanted ground ; for what fairy land has more magic in it 
than the bedchamber of innocence and beauty ? 

From various expressions of the old man in his ravings, 
and from what he had noticed on a subsequent visit to 
the tower, to see that the fire was extinguished, Antonio 
had gathered that his patient was an alchemist. The 
philosopher's stone was an object eagerly sought after by 
visionaries in those days ; but in consequence of the su- 
perstitious prejudices of the times, and the frequent per- 
secutions of its votaries, they were apt to pursue their 
experiments in secret, in lonely houses, in caverns and 
ruins, or in the privacy of cloistered cells. 

In the course of the night the old man had several fits 
of restlessness and delirium; he would call out upon 
Theophrastus, and Geber, and Albertus Magnus, and 
other sages of his art; and anon would murmur about 
fermentation and projection, until, toward daylight, he 
once more sunk into a salutary sleep. When the morn- 
ing sun darted his rays into the casement, the fair Inez, 
attended by the female domestic, came blushing into the 
chamber. The student now took his leave, having him- 



202 BRAGEBRIBGE HALL. 

self need of repose, but obtained ready permission to re- 
turn and inquire after tlie sufferer. 

When lie called again, lie found the alchemist languid 
and in pain, but apparently suffering more in mind than 
in body. His delirium had left him, and he had been in- 
formed of the particulars of his deliverance and of the 
subsequent attentions of the scholar. He could do little 
more than look his thanks, but Antonio did not require 
them ; his own heart repaid him for all that he had 
done, and he almost rejoiced in the disaster that had 
gained him an entrance into this mysterious habitation. 
The alchemist was so helpless as to need much assist- 
ance ; Antonio remained with him, therefore, the greater 
part of the day. He repeated his visit the next day, and 
the next. Every day his company seemed more pleasing 
to the invalid ; and every day he felt his interest in the 
latter increasing. Perhaps the presence of the daughter 
might have been at the bottom of this solicitude. 

He had frequent and long conversations with the alche- 
mist. He found him, as men of his pursuits were apt to 
be, a mixture of enthusiasm and simplicity ; of curious 
and extensive reading on points of little utility, with great 
inattention to the every-day occurrences of life, and pro- 
found ignorance of the world. He was deeply versed in 
singular and obscure branches of knowledge, and much 
given to visionary speculations. Antonio, whose mind 
was of a romantic cast, had himself given some attention 
to the occult sciences, and he entered upon these themes 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 203 

witli an ardor that delighted the philosopher. Their con- 
versations frequently turned upon astrology, divination, 
and the great secret. The old man would forget his 
aches and wounds, rise up like a spectre in his bed, and 
kindle into eloquence on his favorite topics. When gen- 
tly admonished of his situation, it would but prompt 
him to another sally of thought. 

"Alas, my son ! " he would say, " is not this very de- 
crepitude and suffering another proof of the imjDortance 
of those secrets with which we are surrounded ? Why 
are we trammelled by disease, withered by old age, and 
our spirits quenched, as it were, within us, but because 
we have lost those secrets of life and youth which were 
known to our parents before their fall ? To regain these 
have philosophers been ever since aspiring ; but just as 
they are on the point of securing the precious secrets for- 
ever, the brief period of life is at an end; they die, and 
with them all their wisdom and experience. ' Nothing,' 
as De Nuysment observes, — * nothing is wanting for man's 
perfection but a longer life, less crossed with sorrows and 
maladies, to the attaining of the full and perfect know- 
ledge of things.' " 

At length Antonio so far gained on the heart of his pa- 
tient as to draw from him the outlines of his story. 

Felix de Vasques, the alchemist, was a native of Cas- 
tile, and of an ancient and honorable line. Early in life 
he had married a beautiful female, a descendant from 
one of the Moorish families. The marriage displeased 



204 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

liis father, wlio considered the pure Spanish blood con- 
taminated by this foreign mixture. It is true, the lady- 
traced her descent from one of the Abencerrages, the 
most gallant of Moorish cavaliers, who had embraced the 
Christian faith on being exiled from the walls of Gre- 
nada. The injured pride of the father, however, was not 
to be appeased. He never saw his son afterwards ; and 
on dying left him but a scanty portion of his estate ; be- 
queathing the residue, in the piety and bitterness of his 
heart, to the erection of convents, and the performance 
of masses for souls in purgatory. Don Felix resided for 
a long time in the neighborhood of Valladolid, in a state 
of embarrassment and obscurity. He devoted himself to 
intense study, having, while at the university of Sala- 
manca, imbibed a taste for the secret sciences. He was 
enthusiastic and speculative ; he went on from one 
branch of knowledge to another, until he became zealous 
in the search after the grand Arcanum. 

He had at first engaged in the pursuit with the hopes 
of raising himself from his present obscurity, and resum- 
ing the rank and dignity to which his birth entitled him ; 
but, as usual, it ended in absorbing every thought, and 
becoming the business of his existence. He was at length 
aroused from this mental abstraction by the calamities of 
his household. A malignant fever swept off his wife and 
all his children, excepting an infant daughter. These 
losses for a time overwhelmed and stupefied him. His 
home had in a manner died away from around him, and 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 205 

he felt lonely and forlorn. When his spirit revived 
within him, he determined to abandon the scene of his 
humiliation and disaster; to bear away the child that 
was still left him, beyond the scene of contagion, and 
never to return to Castile until he should be enabled to 
reclaim the honors of his line. 

He had ever since been wandering and unsettled in his 
abode. Sometimes the resident of populous cities, at 
other times of absolute solitudes. He had searched li- 
braries, meditated on inscriptions, visited adepts of dif- 
ferent countries, and sought to gather and concentrate 
the rays which had been thrown by various minds upon 
the secrets of alchemy. He had at one time travelled 
quite to Padua to search for the manuscripts of Pietro 
d'Abano, and to inspect an urn which had been dug up 
near Este, supposed to have been buried by Maximus 
Olybius, and to have contained the grand elixir.* 

While at Padua he met with an a dept versed in Ara- 
bian lore, who talked of the invaluable manuscripts that 

* This urn was found in 1533. It contained a lesser one, in which was 
a burning lamp betwixt two small vials, the one of gold, the other of sil- 
ver, both of them full of a very clear liquor. On the largest was an 
inscription stating that Maximus Olybius shut up in this small vessel ele- 
ments which he had prepared with great toil. There were many disqui- 
sitions among the learned on the subject. It was the most received 
opinion that this Maximus Olybius was an inhabitant of Padua ; that he 
had discovered the great secret, and that these vessels contained liquor, 
one to transmute metals to gold, the other to silver. The peasants who 
found the urns, imagining this precious liquor to be common water, spilt 
every drop, so that the art of transmuting metals remains as much a se- 
cret as ever. 



206 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

must remain in the Spanish libraries, preserved from the 
spoils of the Moorish academies and universities ; of the 
probability of meeting with precious unpublished writ- 
ings of Geber, and Alfarabius, and Avicenna, the great 
physicians of the Arabian schools, who, it was well 
known, had treated much of alchemy ; but, above all, he 
spoke of the Arabian tablets of lead, which had recently 
been dug up in the neighborhood of Grenada, and which, 
it was confidently believed among adepts, contained the 
lost secrets of the art. 

The indefatigable alchemist once more bent his steps 
for Spain, full of renovated hope. He had made his way 
to Grenada; he had wearied himself in the study of 
Arabic, in deciphering inscriptions, in rummaging libra- 
ries, and exploring every possible trace left by the Ara- 
bian sages. 

In all his wanderings he had been accompanied by 
Inez; through the rough and the smooth, the pleasant 
and the adverse ; never complaining, but rather seeking 
to soothe his cares by her innocent and playful caresses. 
Her instruction had been the employment and the de- 
light of his hours of relaxation. She had grown up while 
they were wandering, and had scarcely ever known any 
home but by his side. He was family, friends, home, 
everything to her. He had carried her in his arms when 
they first began their wayfaring ; had nestled her, as an 
eagle does its young, among the rocky heights of the 
Sierra Morena ; she had sported about him in childhood 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 207 

in the solitudes of tlie Bateucas ; had. followed him, as 
the lamb does the shepherd, over the rugged Pyrenees, 
and into the fair plains of Languedoc ; and now she 
was grown up to support his feeble steps among the 
ruined abodes of her maternal ancestors. 

His property had gradually wasted away in the course 
of his travels and his experiments. Still hope, the con- 
stant attendant of the alchemist, had led him on ; ever on 
the point of reaping the reward of his labors, and ever 
disappointed. With the credulity that often attended his 
art, he attributed many of his disappointments to the 
machinations of the malignant spirits which beset the 
path of the alchemist, and torment him in his solitary 
labors. " It is their constant endeavor," he observed, 
" to close up every avenue to those sublime truths which 
would enable man to rise above the abject state into 
which he has fallen, and to return to his original per- 
fection." To the evil offices of these demons he at- 
tributed his late disaster. He had been on the very 
verge of the glorious discovery ; never were the indica- 
tions more completely auspicious ; all was going on pros- 
perously, when, at the critical moment which should 
have crowned his labors with success, and have placed 
him at the very summit of human power and felicity, the 
bursting of a retort had reduced his laboratory and him- 
self to ruins. 

" I must now," said he, " give up at the very threshold 
of success. My books and papers are burnt : my appara- 



208 BBACEBBIJDOE HALL. 

tus is broken. I am too old to bear up against these 
evils. The ardor that once inspired me is gone ; my poor 
frame is exhausted by study and watchfulness, and this 
last misfortune has hurried me towards the grave." He 
concluded in a tone of deep dejection. Antonio endea- 
vored to comfort and reassure him ; but the poor alche- 
mist had for once awakened to a consciousness of the 
worldly ills gathering around him, and had sunk into de- 
spondency. After a pause, and some thoughtfulness and 
perplexity of brow, Antonio ventured to make a proposal. 

"I have long," said he, "been filled with a love for the 
secret sciences, but have felt too ignorant and diffident to 
give myself up to them. You have acquired experience ; 
you have amassed the knowledge of a lifetime ; it were a 
pity it should be thrown away. You say you are too old 
to renew the toils of the laboratory ; suffer me to under- 
take them. Add your knowledge to my youth and activ- 
ity, and what shall we not accomplish? As a probation- 
ary fee, and a fund on which to proceed, I will bring into 
the common stock a sum of gold, the residue of a legacy, 
which has enabled me to complete my education. A poor 
scholar cannot boast much ; but I trust we shall soon put 
ourselves beyond the reach of want ; and if we should 
fail, why, I must depend, like other scholars, upon my 
brains to carry me through the world." 

The philosopher's spirits, however, were more depress- 
ed than the student had imagined. This last shock, fol- 
lowing in the rear of so many disappointments, had al- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 209 

most destroyed tlie reaction of his mind. The fire of an 
enthusiast, however, is never so low, but that it may be 
blown again into a flame. By degrees the old man was 
cheered and reanimated by the buoyancy and ardor of 
his sanguine companion. He at length agreed to accept 
of the services of the student, and once more to renew 
his experiments. He objected, however, to using the 
student's gold, notwithstanding his own was nearly ex- 
hausted ; but this objection was soon overcome ; the stu- 
dent insisted on making it a common stock and com- 
mon cause ; — and then how absurd was any delicacy 
about such a trifle, with men who looked forward to 
discovering the philosopher's stone ? 

While, therefore, the alchemist was slowly recovering, 
the student busied himself in getting the laboratory once 
more in order. It was strewed with the wrecks of retorts 
and alembics, with old crucibles, boxes and phials of pow- 
ders and tinctures, and half-burnt books and manuscripts. 

As soon as the old man was sufficiently recovered, the 
studies and experiments were renewed. The student be- 
came a privileged and frequent visitor, and was indefati- 
gable in his toils in the laboratory. The philosopher 
daily derived new zeal and spirits from the animation of 
his disciple. He was now enabled to prosecute the enter- 
prise with continued exertion, having so active a coad- 
jutor to divide the toil. While he was poring over the 
writings of Sandivogius, and Philalethes, and Dominus 
de Nuysment, and endeavoring to comprehend the sym- 



210 BBAGEBRIDGE HALL. 

bolical language in whicli tliey have locked up their mys- 
teries, Antonio would occupy himself among the retorts 
and crucibles, and keep the furnace in a perpetual glow. 

With all his zeal, however, for the discovery of the 
golden art, the feelings of the student had not cooled as 
to the object that first drew him to this ruinous mansion. 
During the old man's illness, he had frequent opportuni- 
ties of being near the daughter ; and every day made him 
more sensible to her charms. There was a pure sim- 
plicity, and an almost passive gentleness in her manners ; 
yet with all this was mingled something, whether mere 
maiden shyness, or a consciousness of high descent, or 
a dash of Castilian pride, or perhaps all united, that pre- 
vented undue familiarity, and made her diflScult of ap- 
proach. The danger of her father, and the measures to 
be taken for his relief, had at first overcome this coyness 
and reserve ; but as he recovered and her alarm subsided, 
she seemed to shrink from the familiarity she had in- 
dulged with the youthful stranger, and to become every 
day more shy and silent. 

Antonio had read many books, but this was the first 
volume of womankind that he had ever studied. He had 
been captivated with the very title-page ; but the further 
he read the more he was delighted. She seemed formed 
to love ; her soft black eye rolled languidly under its long 
silken lashes, and wherever it turned, it would linger and 
repose ; there was tenderness in every beam. To him 
alone she was reserved and distant. Now that the com- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 211 

mon cares of tlie sick-room were at an end, ke saw lit- 
tle more of her than before his admission to the house. 
Sometimes he met her on his way to and from the labo- 
ratory, and at such times there was ever a smile and a 
blush ; but, after a simple salutation, she glided on and 
disappeared. 

" 'Tis plain," thought Antonio, " my presence is indif- 
ferent, if not irksome to her. She has noticed my ad- 
miration, and is determined to discourage it ; nothing but 
a feeling of gratitude prevents her treating me with mark- 
ed distaste ; — and then has she not another lover, rich, 
gallant, splendid, musical ? how can I suppose she would 
turn her eyes from so brilliant a cavalier to a poor ob- 
scure student, raking among the cinders of her father's 
laboratory ? " 

Indeed, the idea of the amorous serenader continually 
haunted his mind. He felt convinced that he was a fa- 
vored lover ; yet, if so, why did he not frequent the 
tower ? Why did he not make his approaches by noon- 
day? There was mystery in this eavesdropping and mu- 
sical courtship. Surely Inez could not be encouraging a 
secret intrigue ! Oh, no ! she was too artless, too pure, 
too ingenuous ! But then the Spanish females were so 
prone to love and intrigue ; and music and moonlight 
were so seductive, and Inez had such a tender soul lan- 
guishing in every look. " Oh ! " would the poor scholar 
exclaim, clasping his hands, — " oh that I could but once 
behold those loving eyes beaming on me with affection ! " 



212 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

It is incredible to those who have not experienced it, 
on what scanty aliment human life and human love may- 
be supported. A dry crust, thrown now and then to a 
starving man, will give him a new lease of existence ; and 
a faint smile, or a kind look, bestowed at casual inter- 
vals, will keep a lover loving on, when a man in his sober 
senses would despair. 

When Antonio found himself alone in the laboratory, 
his mind would be haunted by one of these looks, or 
smiles, which he had received in passing. He would set 
it in every possible light, and argue on it with all the 
self-pleasing, self-teasing logic of a lover. 

The country around was enough to awaken that volup- 
tuousness of feeling so favorable to the growth of pas- 
sion. The windows of the tower rose above the trees of 
the romantic valley of the Darro, and looked down upon 
some of the loveliest scenery of the Yega, where groves 
of citron and orange were refreshed by cool springs and 
brooks of the purest water. The Xenel and the Darro 
wound their shining streams along the plain, and 
gleamed from among its bowers. The surrounding hills 
were covered with vineyards, and the mountains, crowned 
with snow, seemed to melt into the blue sky. The deli- 
cate airs that played about the tower were perfumed by 
the fragrance of myrtle and orange blossoms, and the ear 
was charmed with the fond warbling of the nightingale, 
which, in these happy regions, sings the whole day long. 
Sometimes, too, there was the idle song of the muleteer, 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 213 

sauntering along the solitary road, or the notes of the 
guitar from some group of peasants dancing in the 
shade. All these were enough to fill the head of a young 
lover with poetic fancies ; and Antonio would picture to 
himself how he could loiter among those happy groves, 
and wander by those gentle rivers, and love away his life 
with Inez. 

He felt at times impatient at his own weakness, and 
would endeavor to brush away these cobwebs of the 
mind. He would turn his thought, with sudden effort, to 
his occult studies, or occupy himself in some perplexing 
process ; but often, when he had partially succeeded in 
fixing his attention, the sound of Inez's lute, or the soft 
notes of her voice, would come stealing upon the stillness 
of the chamber, and, as it were, floating round the tower. 
There was no great art in her performance ; but Antonio 
thought he had never heard music comparable to this. 
It was perfect witchcraft to hear her warble forth some 
of her national melodies ; those little Spanish romances 
and Moorish ballads which transport the hearer, in idea, 
to the banks of the Guadalquiver, or the walls of the Al- 
hambra, and make him dream of beauties, and balconies, 
and moonlight serenades. 

Never was poor student more sadly beset than An- 
tonio. Love is a troublesome companion in a study at 
the best of times ; but in the laboratory of an alchemist 
his intrusion is terribly disastrous. Instead of attending 
to the retorts and crucibles, and watching the process of 



214 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

some experiment intrusted to his charge, the student 
would get entranced in one of these love-dreams, from 
which he would often be aroused by some fatal catastro- 
phe. The philosopher, on returning from his researches 
in the libraries, would find everything gone wrong, and 
Antonio in despair over the ruins of the whole day's 
work. The old man, however, took all quietly, for his 
had been a life of experiment and failure. 

" We must have patience, my son," would he say, " as 
all the great masters that have gone before us have had. 
Errors, and accidents, and delays, are what we have to 
contend with. Did not Pontanus err two hundred times 
before he could obtain even the matter on which to found 
his ex23eriments ? The great Flamel, too, did he not la- 
bor four-and- twenty years, before he ascertained the first 
agent ? What difficulties and hardships did not Carti- 
laceus encounter, at the very threshold of his dis- 
coveries? And Bernard de Treves, even after he had 
attained a knowledge of all the requisites, was he not de- 
layed full three years ? What you consider accidents, 
my son, are the machinations of our invisible enemies. 
The treasures and golden secrets of nature are surround- 
ed by spirits hostile to man. The air about us teems 
with them. They lurk in the fire of the furnace, in the 
bottom of the crucible and the alembic, and are ever on 
the alert to take advantage of those moments when our 
minds are wandering from intense meditation on the 
great truth' that we are seeking. We must only strive 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 215 

the more to purify ourselves from those gross and earth- 
ly feelings which becloud the soul, and prevent her from 
piercing into nature's arcana." 

"Alas ! " thought Antonio, " if to be purified from all 
earthly feeling requires that I should cease to love Inez, 
I fear I shall never discover the philosopher's stone ! " 

In this way matters went on for some time at the 
alchemist's. Day after day was sending the student's 
gold in vapor up the chimney ; every blast of the furnace 
made him a ducat the poorer, without apparently helping 
him a jot nearer to the golden secret. Still the young 
man stood by, and saw piece after piece disappearing 
without a murmur : he had daily an opportunity of see- 
ing Inez, and felt as if her favor would be better than 
silver or gold, and that every smile was worth a ducat. 

Sometimes, in the cool of the evening, when the toils 
of the laboratory happened to be suspended, he would 
walk with the alchemist in what had once been a garden 
belonging to the mansion. There were still the remains 
of terraces and balustrades, and here and there a marble 
urn, or mutilated statue overturned, and buried among 
weeds and flowers run wild. It was the favorite resort 
of the alchemist in his hours of relaxation, where he 
would give full scope to his visionary flights. His mind 
was tinctured with the Kosicrucian doctrines. He be- 
lieved in elementary beings ; some favorable, others ad- 
verse to his pursuits ; and in the exaltation of his fancy, 
had often imagined that he held communion with them 



216 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

in liis solitary walks about tiie whispering groves and 
echoing walls of this old garden. 

When accompanied by Antonio, he would prolong these 
evening recreations. Indeed, he sometimes did it out of 
consideration for his disciple, for he feared lest his too 
close application, and his incessant seclusion in the tower, 
should be injurious to his health. He was delighted and 
surprised by this extraordinary zeal and perseverance in 
so young a tyro, and looked upon him as destined to be 
one of the great luminaries of the art. Lest the student 
should repine at the time lost in these relaxations, the 
good alchemist would fill them up with wholesome know- 
ledge, in matters connected with their pursuits ; and 
would walk up and down the alleys with his disciple, im- 
parting oral instruction like an ancient philosopher. In 
all his visionary schemes there breathed a spirit of lofty, 
though chimerical philanthropy, that won the admiration 
of the scholar. Nothing sordid, nor sensual ; nothing 
petty nor selfish seemed to enter into his views, in re- 
spect to the grand discoveries he was anticipating. On 
the contrary, his imagination kindled with conceptions of 
widely dispensated happiness. He looked forward to the 
time when he should be able to go about the earth reliev- 
ing the indigent, comforting the distressed : and, by his 
unlimited means, devising and executing plans for the 
complete extirpation of poverty, and all its attendant suf- 
ferings and crimes. Never were grander schemes for 
general good, for the distribution of boundless wealth and 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 217 

universal competence, devised, tlian by tliis poor, indi- 
gent alchemist in liis ruined tower. 

Antonio would attend these peripatetic lectures with all 
the ardor of a devotee ; but there was another circum- 
stance which may have given a secret charm to them. 
The garden was the resort also of Inez, where she took 
her walks of recreation, the only exercise her secluded 
life permitted. As Antonio was duteously pacing by the 
side of his instructor, he would often catch a glimpse of 
the daughter, walking pensively about the alleys in the 
soft twilight. Sometimes they would meet her unexpect- 
edly, and the heart of the student would throb with agita- 
tion. A blush, too, would crimson the cheek of Inez, but 
still she passed on, and never joined them. 

He had remained one evening, until rather a late hour, 
with the alchemist in this favorite resort. It was a de- 
lightful night after a sultry day, and the balmy air of the 
garden was peculiarly reviving. The old man was seated 
on a fragment of a pedestal, looking like a part of the 
ruin on which he sat. He was edifying his pupil by long 
lessons of wisdom from the stars, as they shone out with 
brilliant lustre in the dark-blue vault of a southern sky ; 
for he was deeply versed in Behmen, and other of the 
Eosicrucians, and talked much of the signature of earthly 
things, and passing events, which may be discerned in the 
heavens ; of the power of the stars over corporeal beings, 
and their influence on the fortunes of the sons of men. 

By degrees the moon rose and shed her gleaming light 



218 BBACEBRIDOE HALL. 

among the groves. Antonio apparently listened witli 
fixed attention to the sage, but his ear was drinking in 
the melody of Inez's voice, who was singing to her lute 
in one of the moonlight glades of the garden. The old 
man having exhausted his theme, sat gazing in silent 
reverie at the heavens. Antonio could not resist an in- 
clination to steal a look at this coy beauty, who was thus 
playing the part of the nightingale, so sequestered and 
musical. Leaving the alchemist in his celestial reverie, 
he stole gently along one of the alleys. The music had 
ceased, and he thought he heard the sound of voices. 
He came to an angle of a copse that had screened a kind 
of green recess, ornamented by a marble fountain. The 
moon shone full upon the place, and by its light he be- 
held his unknown serenading rival at the feet of Inez. 
He was detaining her by the hand, which he covered 
with kisses ; but at sight of Antonio he started up and 
half drew his sword, while Inez, disengaged, fled back to 
the house. 

All the jealous doubts and fears of Antonio were now 
confirmed. He did not remain to encounter the resent- 
ment of his happy rival at being thus interrupted, but 
turned from the place in sudden wretchedness of heart. 
That Inez should love another would have been misery 
enough ; but that she should be capable of a dishonor- 
able amour, shocked him to the soul. The idea of decep- 
tion in so young and apparently artless a being, brought 
with it that sudden distrust in human nature, so sick- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 219 

ening to a youthful and ingenuous mind ; but wlien lie 
thought of the kind, simple parent she was deceiving, 
whose affections all centred in her, he felt for a moment 
a sentiment of indignation, and almost of aversion. 

He found the alchemist still seated in his visionary 
contemplation of the moon. "Come hither, my son," 
said he, with his usual enthusiasm, " come, read with me 
in this vast volume of wisdom, thus nightly unfolded for 
our perusal. Wisely did the Chaldean sages affirm, that 
the heaven is as a mystic page, uttering speech to those 
who can rightly understand ; warning them of good and 
evil, and instructing them in the secret decrees of fate." 

The student's heart ached for his venerable master; 
and, for a moment, he felt the futility of all his occult 
wisdom. "Alas! poor old man!" thought he, "of what 
avails all thy study ? Little dost thou dream, while bus- 
ied in airy .speculations among the stars, what a treason 
against thy happiness is going on under thine eyes, — as 
it were, in thy very bosom ! — Oh, Inez ! Inez ! where 
shall we look for truth and innocence; where shall we 
repose confidence in woman, if even you can deceive ? " 

It was a trite apostrophe, such as every lover makes 
when he finds his mistress not quite such a goddess as he 
had painted her. With the student, however, it sprang 
from honest anguish of heart. He returned to his lodg- 
ings in pitiable confusion of mind. He now deplored 
the infatuation which had led him on until his feelings 
were so thoroughly engaged. He resolved to abandon 



220 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

his pursuits at the tower, and trust to absence to dispel 
the fascination by which he had been spellbound. He 
no longer thirsted after the discovery of the grand elixir : 
the dream of alchemy was over ; for without Inez, what 
was the value of the philosopher's stone ? 

He rose, after a sleepless night, with the determination 
of taking his leave of the alchemist, and tearing himself 
from Grenada. For several days did he rise with the 
same resolution, and every night saw him come back to 
his pillow to repine at his want of resolution, and to make 
fresh determinations for the morrow. In the meanwhile 
he saw less of Inez than ever. She no longer walked in 
the garden, but remained almost entirely in her apart- 
ment. When she met him, she blushed more than usual ; 
and once hesitated, as if she would have spoken ; but 
after a temporary embarrassment, and still deeper 
blushes, she made some casual observation, and retired. 
Antonio read, in this confusion, a consciousness of fault, 
and of that fault's being discovered. " "What could she 
have wished to communicate? Perhaps to account for 
the scene in the garden ; — ^but how can she account for it, 
or why should she account for it to me ? What am I to 
her ? — or rather, what is she to me ? " exclaimed he, im- 
patiently ; with a new resolution to break through these 
entanglements of the heart, and fly from this enchanted 
spot forever. 

He was returning that very night to his lodgings, full 
of this excellent determination, when, in a shadowy part 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 221 

of the road, lie passed a person whom lie recognized, by 
his height and form, for his rival ; he was going in the 
direction of the tower. If any lingering doubts remained, 
here was an opportunity of settling them completely. He 
determined to follow this unknown cavalier, and, under 
favor of the darkness, observe his movements. If he ob- 
tained access to the tower, or in any way a favorable re- 
ception, Antonio felt as if it would be a relief to his mind, 
and would enable him to fix his wavering resolution. 

The unknown, as he came near the tower, was more 
cautious and stealthy in his approaches. He was joined 
under a clump of trees by another person, and they 
had much whispering together. A light was burning in 
the chamber of Inez, the curtain was down, but the case- 
ment was left open, as the night was warm. After some 
time the light was extinguished. A considerable inter- 
val elapsed. The cavalier and his companion remained 
under covert of the trees, as if keeping watch. At length 
they approached the tower with silent and cautious steps. 
The cavalier received a dark lantern from his companion, 
and threw off his cloak. The other then softly brought 
something from the clump of trees, which Antonio per- 
ceived to be a light ladder : he placed it against the wall, 
and the serenader gently ascended. A sickening sensa- 
tion came over Antonio. Here was indeed a confirmation 
of every fear. He was about to leave the place, never 
to return, when he heard a stifled shriek from Inez's 
chamber. 



222 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

In an instant tlie fellow that stood at the foot of the 
ladder lay prostrate on the ground. Antonio wrested a 
stiletto from his nerveless hand, and hurried up the lad- 
der. He sprang in at the window, and found Inez strug- 
gling in the grasp of his fancied rival : the latter, dis- 
turbed from his prey, caught up his lantern, turned its 
light full upon Antonio, and drawing his sword, made a 
furious assault ; luckily the student saw the light gleam 
along the blade, and parried the thrust with the stiletto. 
A fierce, but unequal combat ensued. Antonio fought 
exposed to the full glare of the light, while his antag- 
onist was in a shadow : his stiletto, too, was but a poor 
defence against a rapier. He saw that nothing would 
save him but closing with his adversary and getting 
within his weapon : he rushed furiously upon him, and 
gave him a severe blow with the stiletto ; but received a 
wound in return from the shortened sword. At the same 
moment a blow was inflicted from behind, by the confed- 
erate, who had ascended the ladder ; it felled him to the 
floor, and his antagonists made their escape. 

By this time the cries of Inez had brought her father 
and the domestic to the room. Antonio was found wel- 
tering in his blood, and senseless. He was conveyed to 
the chamber of the alchemist, who now repaid in kind 
the attentions which the student had once bestowed upon 
him. Among his varied knowledge he possessed some 
skill in surgery, which at this moment was of more value 
than even his chemical lore. He stanched and dressed 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 223 

tlie wounds of his disciple, whicli on examination proved 
less desperate than he had at first apprehended. For a 
few days, however, his case was anxious, and attended 
with danger. The old man watched over him with the 
affection of a parent. He felt a double debt of gratitude 
towards him on account of his daughter and himself ; he 
loved him too as a faithful and zealous disciple ; and he 
dreaded lest the world should be deprived of the prom- 
ising talents of so aspiring an alchemist. 

An excellent constitution soon medicined his wounds ; 
and there was a balsam in the looks and words of Inez, 
that had a healing effect on the still severer wounds 
which he carried in his heart. She displayed the strong- 
est interest in his safety ; she called him her deliverer, 
her preserver. It seemed as if her grateful disposition 
sought, in the warmth of its acknowledgments, to repay 
him for past coldness. But what most contributed to 
Antonio's recovery, was hei; explanation concerning his 
supposed rival. It was some time since he had first be- 
held her at church, and he had ever since persecuted her 
with his attentions. He had beset her in her walks, un- 
til she had been obliged to confine herself to the house, 
except when accompanied by her father. He had be- 
sieged her with letters, serenades, and every art by 
which he could urge a vehement, but clandestine and 
dishonorable suit. The scene in the garden was as much 
of a surprise to her as to Antonio. Her persecutor had 
been attracted by her voice, and had found his way over 



224 BBAGEBRIDGE HALL. 

a ruined part of tlie wall. He had come upon lier una- 
wares, was detaining lier by force, and pleading his 
insulting passion, when the appearance of the student 
interrupted him, and enabled her to make her escape. 
She had forborne to mention to her father the perse- 
cution which she suffered ; she wished to spare him 
unavailing anxiety and distress, and had determined to 
confine herself more rigorously to the house ; though it 
appeared that even here she had not been safe from his 
daring enterprise. 

Antonio inquired whether she knew the name of this 
impetuous admirer ? She replied, that he had made his 
advances under a fictitious name ; but that she had heard 
him once called by the name of Don Ambrosio de Loxa. 

Antonio knew him, by report, for one of the most de- 
termined and dangerous libertines in all Grenada. Art- 
ful, accomplished, and, if he chose to be so, insinuating ; 
but daring and headlong in the pursuit of his pleasures ; 
violent and implacable in his resentments. He rejoiced 
to find that Inez had been proof against his seductions, 
and had been inspired with aversion by his splendid pro- 
fligacy ; but he trembled to think of the dangers she had 
run, and he felt solicitude about the dangers that must 
yet environ her. 

At present, however, it was probable the enemy had 
a temporary quietus. The traces of blood had been 
found for some distance from the ladder, until they were 
lost among thickets ; and as nothing had been heard or 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 225 

seen of him since, it was concluded that he had been 
seriously wounded. 

As the student recovered from his wounds, he was 
enabled to join Inez and her father in their domestic 
intercourse. The chamber in which they usually met 
had probably been a saloon of state in former times. 
The floor was of marble ; the walls were partially cov- 
ered with remains of tapestry ; the chairs, richly carved 
and gilt, were crazed with age, and covered with tar- 
nished and tattered brocade. Against the wall hung a 
long, rusty rapier, the only relic that the old man re- 
tained of the chivalry of his ancestors. There might 
have been something to provoke a smile in the contrast 
between the mansion and its inhabitants, between pres- 
ent poverty and the traces of departed grandeur ; but 
the fancy of the student had thrown so much romance 
about the edifice and its inmates, that everything was 
clothed with charms. The philosopher, with his broken- 
down pride, and his strange pursuits, seemed to comport 
with the melancholy ruin he inhabited ; and there was a 
native elegance of spirit about the daughter, that showed 
she would have graced the mansion in its happier days. 

What delicious moments were these to the student ! 
Inez was no longer coy and reserved. She was naturally 
artless and confiding ; though the kind of persecution she 
had experienced from one admirer had rendered her, for 
a time, suspicious and circumspect towards the other, she 
now felt an entire confidence in the sincerity and worth of 
15 



226 BBACEBRIDOE HALL. 

Antonio, mingled with an overflowing gratitude. When 
her eyes met his, they beamed with sympathy and kind- 
ness ; and Antonio, no longer haunted by the idea of a 
favored rival, once more aspired to success. 

At these domestic meetings, however, he had little op- 
portunity of paying his court, except by looks. The 
alchemist, supposing him, like himself, absorbed in the 
study of alchemy, endeavored to cheer the tediousness of 
his recovery by long conversations on the art. He even 
brought several of his half-burnt volumes, which the stu- 
dent had once rescued from the flames, and rewarded 
him for their preservation by reading copious passages. 
He would entertain him with the great and good acts of 
Flamel, which he effected through means of the philoso- 
pher's stone, relieving widows and orphans, founding 
hospitals, building churches, and what not ; or with the 
interrogatories of King Kalid, and the answers of Morie- 
nus, the Roman hermit of Hierusalem ; or the profound 
questions Avhich Elardus, a necromancer of the province 
of Catalonia, put to the devil, touching the secrets of al- 
chemy, and the devil's replies. 

All these were couched in occult language, almost unin- 
telligible to the unpractised ear of the disciple. Indeed, 
the old man delighted in the mystic phrases and symbol- 
ical jargon in which the writers that have treated of al- 
chemy have wrapped their communications ; rendering 
them incomprehensible except to the initiated. With 
what rapture would he elevate his voice at a triumphant 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. ^^ 

passage, announcing the grand discovery ! " Thou shalt 
see," would he exclaim, in the words of Henry Kuhnrade,* 
" the stone of the philosophers (our king) go forth of the 
bed-chamber of his glassy sepulchre into the theatre of 
this world ; that is to say, regenerated and made perfect, 
a shining carbuncle, a most temperate splendor, whose 
most subtle and dephurated parts are inseparable, united 
into one with a concordial mixture, exceeding equal, trans- 
parent as crystal, shining red like a ruby, permanently 
coloring or ringing, fixt in all temptations or trials ; yea, 
in the examination of the burning sulphur itself, and the 
devouring waters, and in the most vehement persecution 
of the fire, always incombustible and permanent as a 
salamander ! " 

The student had a high veneration for the fathers of 
alchemy, and a profound respect for his instructor; but 
what was Henry Kuhnrade, Geber, LuUy, or even Alber- 
tus Magnus himself, compared to the countenance of Inez, 
which presented such a page of beauty to his perusal? 
While, therefore, the good alchemist was doling out 
knowledge by the hour, his disciple would forget books, 
alchemy, everything but the lovely object before him. 
Inez, too, unpractised in the science of the heart, was 
gradually becoming fascinated by the silent attentions of 
her lover. Day by day she seemed more and more per- 
plexed by the kindling and strangely pleasing emotions of 

* Amphitheatre of the Eternal Wisdom. 



228 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

her bosom. Her eye was often cast down in tlionglit. 
Blushes stole to her cheek without any apparent cause, 
and light, half-suppressed sighs would follow these short 
fits of musing. Her little ballads, though the same that 
she had always sung, yet breathed a more tender spirit. 
Either the tones of her voice were more soft and touch- 
ing, or some passages were delivered with a feeling which 
she had never before given them. Antonio, beside his 
love for the abstruse sciences, had a pretty turn for 
music ; and never did philosopher touch the guitar more 
tastefully. As, by degrees, he conquered the mutual em- 
barrassment that kept them asunder, he ventured to ac- 
company Inez in some of her songs. He had a voice full of 
fire and tenderness ; as he sang, one would have thought, 
from the kindling blushes of his companion, that he 
had been pleading his own passion in her ear. Let 
those who would keep two youthful hearts asunder be- 
ware of music. Oh ! this leaning over chairs, and conning 
the same music-book, and entwining of voices and melting 
away in harmonies ! — the German waltz is nothing to it. 

The worthy alchemist saw nothing of all this. His 
mind could admit of no idea that was not connected with 
the discovery of the grand arcanum, and he supposed 
his youthful coadjutor equally devoted. He was a mere 
child as to human nature ; and, as to the passion of love, 
whatever he might once have felt of it, he had long since 
forgotten that there was such an idle passion in exist- 
ence. But, while he dreamed, the silent amour went on. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 229 

The very quiet and seclusion of the place were favorable 
to tlie growth of romantic passion. The opening bud of 
love was able to put forth leaf by leaf, without an ad- 
verse wind to check its growth. There was neither offi- 
cious friendship to chill by its advice, nor insidious envy 
to wither by its sneers, nor an observing world to look 
on and stare it out of countenance. There was neither 
declaration, nor vow, nor any other form of Cupid's cant- 
ing school. Their hearts mingled together, and under- 
stood each other without the aid of language. They 
lapsed into the full current of affection, unconscious of 
its depth, and thoughtless of the rocks that might lurk 
beneath its surface. Happy lovers ! who wanted nothing 
to make their felicity complete but the discovery of the 
philosopher's stone. 

At length Antonio's health was sufficiently restored to 
enable him to return to his lodgings in Grenada. He 
felt uneasy, however, at leaving the tower, while lurking 
danger might surround its almost defenceless inmates. 
He dreaded lest Don Ambrosio, recovered from his 
wounds, might plot some new attempt, by secret art or 
open violence. From all that he had heard, he knew 
him to be too implacable to suffer his defeat to pass 
unavenged, and too rash and fearless, when his arts were 
unavailing, to stop at any daring deed in the accomplish- 
ment of his purposes. He urged his apprehensions to 
the alchemist and his daughter, and proposed that they 
should abandon the dangerous vicinity of Grenada. 



230 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

" I have relations," said lie, " in Yalencia, poor indeed, 
but worthy and affectionate. Among them you will find 
friendship and quiet, and we may there pursue our la- 
bors unmolested." He went on to paint the beauties 
and delights of Valencia with all the fondness of a native, 
and all the eloquence with which a lover paints the fields 
and groves which he is picturing as the future scenes of 
his happiness. His eloquence, backed by the apprehen- 
sions of Inez, was successful with the alchemist, who, 
indeed, had led too unsettled a life to be particular about 
the place of his residence ; and it was determined that, 
as soon as Antonio's health was perfectly restored, they 
should abandon the tower, and seek the delicious neigh- 
borhood of Yalencia.* 

To recruit his strength, the student suspended his toils 
in the laboratory, and spent the few remaining days, be- 
fore departure, in taking a farewell look at the enchant- 
ing environs of Grenada. He felt returning health and 
vigor as he inhaled the pure temperate breezes that play 
about its hills ; and the happy state of his mind con- 

* Here are the strongest silks, the sweetest wines, the excellent'st 
almonds, the best oyls and beautifull'st females of all Spain. The very 
bruit animals make themselves beds of rosemary, and other fragrant 
flowers hereabouts ; and when one is at sea, if the winde blow from the 
shore, he may smell this soyl before he come in sight of it many leagues 
off, by the strong odoriferous scent it casts. As it is the most pleasant, 
so it is also the temperat'st clime of all Spain, and they commonly call it 
the second Italy, which made the Moors, whereof many thousands were 
disterr'd and banish'd hence to Barbary to think that Paradise was in 
that part of the heavens which hung over this citie. — Howell's Letteks. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 231 

tributed to his rapid recovery. Inez was often the com- 
panion of his walks. Her descent, by the mother's side, 
from one of the ancient Moorish families, gave her an 
interest in this once favorite seat of Arabian power. She 
gazed with enthusiasm upon its magnificent monuments, 
and her memory was filled with the traditional tales and 
ballads of Moorish chivalry. Indeed, the solitary life 
she had led, and the visionary turn of her father's mind, 
had produced an effect upon her character, and given it 
a tinge of what, in modern days, would be termed ro- 
mance. All this was called into full force by this new 
passion ; for, when a woman first begins to love, life is all 
romance to her. 

In one of their evening strolls, they had ascended to 
the mountain of the Sun, where is situated the Gener- 
aliffe, the palace of pleasure, in the days of Moorish do- 
minion, but now a gloomy convent of capuchins. They 
had wandered about its garden, among groves of orange, 
citron, and cypress, where the waters, leaping in torrents, 
or gushing in fountains, or tossed aloft in sparkling jets, 
fill the air with music and freshness. There is a melan- 
choly mingled with all the beauties of this garden, that 
gradually stole over the feelings of the lovers. The place 
is full of the sad story of past times. It was the favorite 
abode of the lovely queen of Grenada, where she was 
surrounded by the delights of a gay and voluptuous 
court. It was here, too, amidst her own bowers of roses, 
that her slanderers laid the base story of her dishonor, 



232 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

and struck a fatal blow to the line of tlie gallant Aben- 
cerrages. 

The whole garden has a look of ruin and neglect. 
Many of the fountains are dry and broken ; the streams 
have wandered from their marble channels, and are 
choked by weeds and yellow leaves. The reed whistles 
to the wind where it had once sported among roses, and 
shaken perfume from the orange-blossom. The convent- 
bell flings its sullen sound, or the drowsy vesper hymn 
floats along these solitudes, which once resounded with 
the song, and the dance, and the lover's serenade. Well 
may the Moors lament over the loss of this earthly par- 
adise ; well may they remember it in their prayers, and 
beseech Heaven to restore it to the faithful ; well may 
their ambassadors smite their breasts when they behold 
these monuments of their race, and sit down and weep 
among the fading glories of Grenada ! 

It is impossible to wander about these scenes of de- 
parted love and gayety, and not feel the tenderness of 
the heart awakened. It was then that Antonio first ven- 
tured to breathe his passion, and to express by words 
what his eyes had long since so eloquently revealed. He 
made his avowal with fervor, but with frankness. He 
had no gay prospects to hold out; he was a poor 
scholar, dependent on his " good spirits to feed and 
clothe him." But a woman in love is no interested cal- 
culator. Inez listened to him with downcast eyes, but 
in them was a humid gleam that showed her heart was 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 233 

witli liim. She liad no prudery in her nature ; and she 
had not been sufficiently in society to acquire it. She 
loved him with all the absence of worldliness of a genu- 
ine woman ; and, amidst timid smiles and blushes, he 
drew from her a modest acknowledgment of her affection. 

They wandered about the garden with that sweet 
intoxication of the soul which none but happy lovers 
know. The world about them was all fairy land; and, 
indeed, it spread forth one of its fairest scenes before 
their eyes, as if to fulfil their dream of earthly happi- 
ness. They looked out from between groves of orange 
upon the towers of Grenada below them ; the magnifi- 
cent plain of the Yega beyond, streaked with evening 
sunshine, and the distant hills tinted with rosy and 
purple hues ; it seemed an emblem of the happy future 
that love and hope were decking out for them. 

As if to make the scene complete, a group of Andalu- 
sians struck up a dance, in one of the vistas of the 
garden, to the guitars of two wandering musicians. The 
Spanish music is wild and plaintive, yet the people 
dance to it with spirit and enthusiasm. The picturesque 
figures of the dance, the girls with their hair in silken 
nets that hung in knots and tassels down their backs, 
their mantillas floating round their graceful forms, their 
slender feet peeping from under their basquinas, their 
arms tossed up in. the air to play the castanets, had a 
beautiful effect on this airy height, with the rich evening 
landscape spreading out below them. 



234 BBACEBBIDQE BALL. 

When the dance was ended, two of the parties ap- 
proached Antonio and Inez ; one of them began a soft and 
tender Moorish ballad, accompanied by the other on the 
lute. It alluded to the story of the garden, the wrongs 
of the fair queen of Grenada, and the misfortunes of 
the Abencerrages. It was one of those old ballads that 
abound in this part of Spain, and live, like echoes, about 
the ruins of Moorish greatness. The heart of Inez 
was at that moment open to every tender impression; 
the tears rose into her eyes as she listened to the tale. 
The singer approached nearer to her ; she was striking 
in her appearance ; young, beautiful, with a mixture of 
wildness and melancholy in her fine black eyes. She 
fixed them mournfully and expressively on Inez, and sud- 
denly varying her manner, sang another ballad, which 
treated of impending danger and treachery. All this 
might have passed for a mere accidental caprice of the 
singer, had there not been something in her look, man- 
ner, and gesticulation, that made it pointed and startling. 

Inez was about to ask the meaning of this evidently 
personal application of the song, when she was inter- 
rupted by Antonio, who gently drew her from the place. 
"Whilst she had been lost in attention to the music, he had 
remarked a group of men, in the shadows of the trees, 
whispering together. They were enveloped in the broad 
hats and great cloaks so much worn by the Spanish, and 
while they were regarding himself and Inez attentively, 
seemed anxious to avoid observation. Not knowing what 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 235 

miglit be tlieir character or intention, he hastened to quit 
a place where the gathering shadows of evening might 
expose them to intrusion and insult. On their way down 
the hill, as they passed through the wood of elms, min- 
gled with poplars and oleanders, that skirts the road lead- 
ing from the Alhambra, he again saw these men, appa- 
rently following at a distance ; and he afterwards caught 
sight of them among the trees on the banks of the Darro. 
He said nothing on the subject to Inez, nor her father, 
for he would not awaken unnecessary alarm ; but he felt 
at a loss how to ascertain or to avert any machinations 
that might be devising against the helpless inhabitants 
of the tower. 

He took his leave of them late at night, full of this per- 
plexity. As he left the dreary old pile, he saw some one 
lurking in the shadow of the wall, apparently watch- 
ing his movements. He hastened after the figure, but 
it glided away, and disappeared among some ruins. 
Shortly after he heard a low whistle, which was answer- 
ed from a little distance. He had no longer a doubt but 
that some mischief was on foot, and turned to hasten 
back to the tower, and put its inmates on their guard. 
He had scarcely turned, however, before he found him- 
self suddenly seized from behind by some one of Her- 
culean strength. His struggles were in vain ; he was sur- 
rounded by armed men. One threw a mantle over him 
that stifled his cries, and enveloped him in its folds; 
and he was hurried off with irresistible rapidity. 



236 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

The next day passed without the appearance of An- 
tonio at the alchemist's. Another, and another day 
succeeded, and yet he did not come ; nor had anything 
been heard of him at his lodgings. His absence caused, 
at first, surprise and conjecture, and at length alarm. 
Inez recollected the singular intimations of the ballad- 
singer upon the mountain, which seemed to warn her of 
impending danger, and her mind was full of vague fore- 
bodings. She sat listening to every sound at the gate, 
or footstep on the stairs. She would take up her guitar 
and strike a few notes, but it would not do ; her heart 
was sickening with suspense and anxiety. She had never 
before felt what it was to be really lonely. She now was 
conscious of the force of that attachment which had 
taken possession of her breast ; for never do we know 
how much we love, never do we know how necessary the 
object of our love is to our happiness, until we experi- 
ence the weary void of separation. 

The philosopher, too, felt the absence of his disciple 
almost as sensibly as did his daughter. The animating 
buoyancy of the youth had inspired him with new ardor, 
and had given to his labors the charm of full companion- 
ship. However, he had resources and consolations of 
which his daughter was destitute. His pursuits were 
of a nature to occupy every thought, and keep the spirits 
in a state of continual excitement. Certain indications, 
too, had lately manifested themselves, of the most favor- 
able nature. Forty days and forty nights had the pro- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 237 

cess gone on successfully; the old man's hopes were 
constantly rising, and he now considered the glorious 
moment once more at hand, when he should obtain not 
merely the major lunaria, but likewise the tinctura So- 
laris, the means of multiplying gold, and of prolonging 
existence. He remained, therefore, continually shut up 
in his laboratory, watching his furnace ; for a moment's 
inadvertency might once more defeat all his expectations. 

He was sitting one evening at one of his solitary vigils, 
wrapped up in meditation ; the hour was late, and his 
neighbor, the owl, was hooting from the battlement of the 
tower, when he heard the door open behind him. Sup- 
posing it to be his daughter coming to take leave of him 
for the night, as was her frequent practice, he called her 
by name, but a harsh voice met his ear in reply. He 
was grasped by the arms, and looking up, perceived 
three strange men in the chamber. He attempted to 
shake them off, but in vain. He called for help, but they 
scoffed at his cries. 

" Peace, dotard ! " cried one, " think'st thou the ser- 
vants of the most holy inquisition are to be daunted by 
thy clamors ? Comrades, away with him ! " 

Without heeding his remonstrances and entreaties, 
they seized upon his books and papers, took some note 
of the apartment, and the utensils, and then bore him off 
a prisoner. 

Inez, left to herself, had passed a sad and lonely even- 
ing ; seated by a casement which looked into the garden, 



238 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

slie had pensively watclied star after star sparkle out of 
the blue depths of the sky, and was indulging a crowd 
of anxious thoughts about her lover, until the rising 
tears began to flow. She was suddenly alarmed by the 
sound of voices that seemed to come from a distant part 
of the mansion. There was not long after a noise of 
several persons descending the stairs. Surprised at 
these unusual sounds in their lonely habitation, she 
remained for a few moments in a state of trembling yet 
indistinct apprehension, when the servant rushed into 
the room, with terror in her countenance, and informed 
her that her father was carried off by armed men. 

Inez did not stop to hear further, but flew down-stairs 
to overtake them. She had scarcely passed the thresh- 
old when she found herself in the grasp of strangers. — 
" Away ! away ! " cried she, wildly ; " do not stop me — 
let me follow my father." 

"We come to conduct you to him, senora," said one of 
the men, respectfully. 

"Where is he then?" 

" He is gone to Grenada," replied the man : " an unex- 
pected circumstance requires his presence there immedi- 
ately; but he is among friends." 

" We have no friends in Grenada," said Inez, drawing 
back. But then the idea of Antonio rushed into her 
mind ; something relating to him might have called her 
father thither. " Is Senor Antonio de Castros with 
him?" demanded she, with agitation. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 239 

"I know not, senora," replied tlie man. "It is very 
possible. I only know that your fatlier is among friends, 
and is anxious for you to follow liim." 

" Let us go, then," cried she, eagerly. The men led 
her a little distance to where a mule was waiting, and, 
assisting her to mount, they conducted her slowly to- 
wards the city. 

Grenada was on that evening a scene of fanciful revel. 
It was one of the festivals of the Maes-tranza, an associ- 
ation of the nobility to keep up some of the gallant cus- 
toms of ancient chivalry. There had been a representa- 
tion of a tournament in one of the squares ; the streets 
would still occasionally resound with the beat of a soli- 
tary drum, or the bray of a trumpet, from some strag- 
gling party of revellers. Sometimes they were met by 
cavaliers, richly dressed in ancient costumes, attended by 
their squires ; and at one time they passed in sight of a 
palace brilliantly illuminated, whence came the mingled 
sounds of music and the dance. Shortly after they came 
to the square, where the mock tournament had been 
held. It was thronged by the populace, recreating them- 
selves among booths and stalls where refreshments were 
sold, and the glare of torches showed the temporary gal- 
leries, and gay-colored awnings, and armorial trophies, 
and other paraphernalia of the show. The conductors 
of Inez endeavored to keep out of observation, and to 
traverse a gloomy part of the square ; but they were de- 
tained at one place by the pressure of a crowd surround- 



240 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

ing a party of wandering musicians, singing one of tliose 
ballads of whicli the Spanish populace are so passionate- 
ly fond. Tlie torches wliich were held by some of the 
crowd, threw a strong mass of light upon Inez, and the 
sight of so beautiful a being, without mantilla or veil, 
looking so bewildered, and conducted by men who seem- 
ed to take no gratification in the surrounding gayety, 
occasioned expressions of curiosity. One of the ballad- 
singers approached, and striking her guitar with peculiar 
earnestness, began to sing a doleful air, full of sinister 
forebodings. Inez started with surprise. It was the 
same ballad-singer that had addressed her in the garden 
of Generaliffe. It was the same air that she had then 
sung. It spoke of impending dangers ; they seemed, in- 
deed, to be thickening around her. She was anxious to 
speak with the girl, and to ascertain whether she really 
had a knowledge of any definite evil that was threatening 
her ; but as she attempted to address her, the mule on 
which she rode was suddenly seized and led forcibly 
through the throng by one of her conductors, while she 
saw another addressing menacing words to the ballad- 
singer. The latter raised her hand with a warning ges- 
ture as Inez lost sight of her. 

While she was yet lost in perplexity, caused by this 
singular occurrence, they stopped at the gate of a large 
mansion. One of her attendants knocked, the door was 
opened, and they entered a paved court. "Where are 
we?" demanded Inez, with anxiety. "At the house of a 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 241 

friend, senora," replied the man. " Ascend this staircase 
with me, and in a moment you will meet your father." 

They ascended a staircase that led to a suite of splen- 
did apartments. They passed through several until they 
came to an inner chamber. The door opened ; some one 
approached ; but what was her terror on perceiving, not 
her father, but Don Ambrosio ! 

The men who had seized upon the alchemist had, at 
least, been more honest in their professions. They were, 
indeed, familiars of the inquisition. He was conducted 
in silence to the gloomy prison of that horrible tribunal. 
It was a mansion whose very aspect withered joy, and 
almost shut out hope. It was one of those hideous 
abodes which the bad passions of men conjure up in this 
fair world, to rival the fancied dens of demons and the 
accursed. 

Day after day went heavily by, without anything to 
mark the lapse of time but the decline and reappearance 
of the light that feebly glimmered through the narrow 
window of the dungeon in which the unfortunate alche- 
mist was buried rather than confined. His mind was 
harassed with uncertainties and fears about his daughter, 
so helpless and inexperienced. He endeavored to gather 
tidings of her from the man who brought his daily por- 
tion of food. The fellow stared, as if astonished at being 
asked a question in that mansion of silence and mystery, 
but departed without saying a word. Every succeeding 
attempt was equally fruitless. 
16 



242 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

The poor alchemist was oppressed with many griefs; 
and it was not the least that he had been again inter- 
rupted in his labors on the very point of success. Never 
was alchemist so near attaining the golden secret ; — a 
little longer, and all his hopes would have been realized. 
The thoughts of these disappointments afflicted him more 
than even the fear of all that he might suffer from the 
merciless inquisition. His waking thoughts would fol- 
low him into his dreams. He would be transported in 
fancy to his laboratory, busied again among retorts and 
alembics, and surrounded by LuUy, by D'Abano, by 
Olybius, and the other masters of the sublime art. The 
moment of projection would arrive ; a seraphic form 
would arise out of the furnace, holding forth a vessel 
containing the precious elixir ; but, before he could grasp 
the prize, he would awake, and find himself in a dungeon. 

All the devices of inquisitorial ingenuity were em- 
ployed to ensnare the old man, and to draw from him 
evidence that might be brought against himself, and 
might corroborate certain secret information given 
against him. He had been accused of practising necro- 
mancy and judicial astrology, and a cloud of evidence 
had been secretly brought forward to substantiate the 
charge. It would be tedious to enumerate all the cir- 
cumstances, apparently corroborative, which had been 
industriously cited by the secret accuser. The silence 
which prevailed about the tower, its desolateness, the 
very quiet of its inhabitants, had been adduced as proofs 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 243 

that something sinister was perpetrated within. The al- 
chemist's conversations and soliloquies in the garden had 
been overheard and misrepresented. The lights and 
strange appearances at night, in the tower, were given 
with violent exaggerations. Shrieks and yells were said 
to have been heard thence at midnight, when, it was con- 
fidently asserted, the old man raised familiar spirits by 
his incantations, and even compelled the dead to rise 
from their graves, and answer to his questions. 

The alchemist, according to the custom of the inquisi- 
tion, was kept in complete ignorance of his accuser ; of 
the witnesses produced against him ; even of the crimes 
of which he was accused. He was examined generally, 
whether he knew why he was arrested, and was conscious 
of any guilt that might deserve the notice of the holy 
office ? He was examined as to his country, his life, his 
habits, his pursuits, his actions, and opinions. The old 
man was frank and simple in his replies ; he was con- 
scious of no guilt, capable of no art, practised in no dis- 
simulation. After receiving a general admonition to be- 
think himself whether he had not committed any act 
deserving of punishment, and to prepare, by confession, 
to secure the well-known mercy of the tribunal, he was 
remanded to his cell. 

He was now visited in his dungeon by crafty familiars 
of the inquisition ; who, under pretence of sympathy and 
kindness, came to beguile the tediousness of his impris- 
onment with friendly conversation. They casually intro- 



244 BBACEBRIDOE HALL. 

duced the subject of alchemy, on wliicli tliey touclied with 
great caution and pretended indifference. There was no 
need of such craftiness. The honest enthusiast had no 
suspicion in his nature : the moment they touched upon 
his favorite theme, he forgot his misfortunes and impris- 
onment, and broke forth into rhapsodies about the divine 
science. 

The conversation was artfully turned to the discussion 
of elementary beings. The alchemist readily allowed 
his belief in them ; and that there had been instances of 
their attending upon philosophers, and administering to 
their wishes. He related many miracles said to have 
been performed by Apollonius Thyaneus, through the 
aid of spirits or demons ; insomuch that he was set up 
by the heathens in opposition to the Messiah ; and was 
even regarded with reverence by many Christians. The 
familiars eagerly demanded whether he believed Apol- 
lonius to be a true and worthy philosopher. The unaf- 
fected piety of the alchemist protected him even in the 
midst of his simplicity ; for he condemned Apollonius as 
a sorcerer and an impostor. No art could draw from 
him an admission that he had ever employed or invoked 
spiritual agencies in the prosecution of his pursuits, 
though he believed himself to have been frequently im- 
peded by their invisible interference. 

The inquisitors were sorely vexed at not being able to 
inveigle him into a confession of a criminal nature ; they 
attributed their failure to craft, to obstinacy, to every 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 245 

cause but the right one, namely, that the harmless vi- 
sionary had nothing guilty to confess. They had abun- 
dant proof of a secret nature against him ; but it was the 
practice of the inquisition to endeavor to procure confes- 
sion from the prisoners. An auto da fe was at hand ; the 
worthy fathers were eager for his conviction, for they 
were always anxious to have a good number of culprits 
condemned to the stake, to grace these solemn triumphs. 
He was at length brought to a final examination. 

The chamber of trial was spacious and gloomy. At 
one end was a huge crucifix, the standard of the inquisi- 
tion. A long table extended through the centre of the 
room, at which sat the inquisitors and their secretary ; 
at the other end a stool was placed for the prisoner. 

He was brought in, according to custom, bare-headed 
and bare-legged. He was enfeebled by confinement and 
affliction ; by constantly brooding over the unknown fate 
of his child, and the disastrous interruption of his ex- 
periments. He sat bowed down and listless ; his head 
sunk upon his breast ; his whole appearance that of one 
"past hope, abandoned, and by himself given over." 

The accusation alleged against him was now brought 
forward in a specific form ; he was called upon by name, 
Felix de Yasquez, formerly of Castile, to answer to the 
charges of necromancy and demonology. He was told that 
the charges were amply substantiated ; and was asked 
whether he was ready, by full confession, to throw him- 
self upon the well-known mercy of the holy inquisition. 



246 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Tlie pliilosoplier testified some little surprise at tlie 
nature of the accusation, but simply replied, " I am inno- 
cent." 

" What proof have you to give of your innocence ? " 

"It rather remains for you to prove your charges," 
said the old man. " I am a stranger and a sojourner in 
the land, and know no one out of the doors of my dwell- 
ing. I can give nothing in my vindication but the word 
of a nobleman and a Castilian." 

The inquisitor shook his head, and went on to repeat 
the various inquiries that had before been made as to his 
mode of life and pursuits. The poor alchemist was too 
feeble and too weary at heart to make any but brief re- 
plies. He requested that some man of science might 
examine his laboratory, and all his books and papers, by 
which it would be made abundantly evident that he was 
merely engaged in the study of alchemy. 

To this the inquisitor observed, that alchemy had be- 
come a mere covert for secret and deadly sins. That the 
practisers of it were apt to scruple at no means to sat- 
isfy their inordinate greediness of gold. Some had been 
known to use spells and impious ceremonies ; to conjure 
the aid of evil spirits ; nay, even to sell their souls to the 
enemy of mankind, so that they might riot in boundless 
wealth while living. 

The poor alchemist had heard all patiently, or, at 
least, passively. He had disdained to vindicate his name 
otherwise than by his word ; he had smiled at the accu- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 247 

sations of sorcery, wlien applied merely to himself ; but 
when the sublime art, which had been the study and 
passion of his life, was assailed, he could no longer listen 
in silence. His head gradually rose from his bosom ; a 
hectic color came in faint streaks to his cheeks, played 
about there, disappeared, returned, and at length kindled 
into a burning glow. The clammy dampness dried from 
his forehead ; his eyes, which had been nearly extin- 
guished, lighted up again, and burned with their wonted 
and visionary j&res. He entered into a vindication of his 
favorite art. His voice at first was feeble and broken ; 
but it gathered strength as he proceeded, until it rolled 
in a deep and sonorous volume. He gradually rose from 
his seat as he rose with his subject ; he threw back the 
scanty black mantle which had hitherto wrapped his 
limbs ; the very uncouthness of his form and looks gave 
an impressive effect to what he uttered ; it was as though 
a corpse had become suddenly animated. 

He repelled with scorn the aspersions cast upon alche- 
my by the ignorant and vulgar. He affirmed it to be 
the mother of all art and science, citing the opinions of 
Paracelsus, Sandivogius, Raymond LuUy, and others, in 
support of his assertions. He maintained that it was 
pure and innocent, and honorable both in its purposes 
and means. What were its objects ? The perpetuation 
of life and youth, and the production of gold. " The 
elixir vitse," said he, " is no charmed potion, but merely 
a concentration of those elements of vitality which nature 



248 BBACEBRIDOE HALL. 

has scattered througli her works. The philosopher's 
stone, or tincture, or powder, as it is variously called, is 
no necromantic talisman, but consists simply of those 
particles which gold contains within itself for its re- 
production ; for gold, like other things, has its seed 
within itself, though bound up with inconceivable firm- 
ness, from the vigor of innate fixed salts and sulphurs. 
In seeking to discover the elixir of life, then," continued 
he, " we seek only to apply some of nature's own speci- 
fics against the disease and decay to which our bodies 
are subjected ; and what else does the physician, when 
he tasks his art, and uses subtle compounds and cunning 
distillations to revive our languishing powers, and avert 
the stroke of death for a season ? 

" In seeking to multiply the precious metals, also, we 
seek but to germinate and multiply, by natural means, a 
particular species of nature's productions ; and what else 
does the husbandman, who consults times and seasons, 
and, by what might be deemed a natural magic, from the 
mere scattering of his hand, covers a whole plain with 
golden vegetation ? The mysteries of our art, it is true, 
are deeply and darkly hidden ; but it requires so much 
the more innocence and purity of thought to penetrate 
unto them. No, father, the true alchemist must be pure 
in mind and body ; he must be temperate, patient, chaste, 
watchful, meek, humble, devout. ' My son,' says Hermes 
Trismegestes, the great master of our art, ' my son, I re- 
commend you above all things to fear God.' And indeed 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 249 

it is only by devout castigation of the senses and purifi- 
cation of the soul, that the alchemist is enabled to enter 
into the sacred chambers of truth. 'Labor, pray, and 
read,' is the motto of our science. As De Nuysement well 
observes, 'these high and singular favors are granted 
unto none save only unto the sons of God, (that is to say, 
the virtuous and devout,) who, under his paternal bene- 
diction, have obtained the opening of the same, by the 
helping hand of the queen of arts, divine philosophy.' 
Indeed, so sacred has the nature of this knowledge been 
considered, that we are told it has four times been ex- 
pressly communicated by God to man, having made a 
part of that cabalistical wisdom which was revealed to 
Adam to console him for the loss of Paradise, to Moses 
in the bush, to Solomon in a dream, and to Esdras by the 
angel. 

"So far from demons and malign spirits being the 
friends and abettors of the alchemist, they are the con- 
tinual foes with which he has to contend. It is their 
constant endeavor to shut up the avenues to those truths 
which would enable him to rise above the abject state 
into which he has fallen, and return to that excellence 
which was his original birthright. For what would be the 
effect of this length of days, and this abundant wealth, 
but to enable the possessor to go on from art to art, from 
science to science, with energies unimpaired by sickness, 
uninterrupted by death ? For this have sages and phi- 
losophers shut themselves up in cells and solitudes ; bur- 



250 BBAGEBBIDOE HALL. 

ied themselves in caves and dens of the earth; turning 
from the joys of life, and the pleasance of the world ; 
enduring scorn, poverty, persecution. For this was Ray- 
mond Lully stoned to death in Mauritania. For this 
did the immortal Pietro D'Abano suffer persecution at 
Padua, and when he escaped from his oppressors by 
death, was despitefully burnt in effigy. For this have 
illustrious men of all nations intrepidly suffered martyr- 
dom. For this, if unmolested, have they assiduously em- 
ployed the latest hour of life, the expiring throb of ex- 
istence, hoping to the last that they might yet seize upon 
the prize for which they had struggled, and pluck them- 
selves back even from the very jaws of the grave. 

" For, when once the alchemist shall have attained the 
object of his toils, when the sublime secret shall be 
revealed to his gaze, how glorious will be the change in 
his condition! How will he emerge from his solitary 
retreat, like the sun breaking forth from the darksome 
chamber of the night, and darting his beams throughout 
the earth ! Gifted with perpetual youth and boundless 
riches, to what heights of wisdom may he attain ! How 
may he carry on, uninterrupted, the thread of knowl- 
edge, which has hitherto been snapped at the death of 
each philosopher ! And, as the increase of wisdom is 
the increase of virtue, how may he become the bene- 
factor of his fellow-men ; dispensing with liberal, but 
cautious and discriminating hand, that inexhaustible 
wealth which , is at his disposal ; banishing poverty, 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 251 

which is the cause of so much sorrow and wickedness ; 
encouraging the arts ; promoting discoveries, and en- 
larging all the means of virtuous enjoyment ! His life 
will be the connecting band of generations. History will 
live in his recollection ; distant ages will speak with his 
tongue. The nations of the earth will look to him as 
their preceptor, and kings will sit at his feet and learn 
wisdom. Oh glorious ! oh celestial alchemy ! " 

Here he was interrupted by the inquisitor, who had 
suffered him to go on thus far, in hopes of gathering 
something from his unguarded enthusiasm. "Seiior," 
said he, " this is all rambling, visionary talk. You are 
charged with sorcery, and in defence you give us a 
rhapsody about alchemy. Have you nothing better than 
this to offer in your defence ? " 

The old man slowly resumed his seat, but did deign 
no reply. The fire that had beamed in his eye gradu- 
ally expired. His cheek resumed its wonted paleness ; 
but he did not relapse into inanity. He sat with a 
steady, serene, patient look, like one prepared not to 
contend but to suffer. 

His trial continued for a long time with cruel mockery 
of justice, for no witnesses were ever, in this court, con- 
fronted with the accused, and the latter had continually 
to defend himself in the dark. Some unknown and 
powerful enemy had alleged charges against the unfortu- 
nate alchemist, but who he could not imagine. Stranger 
and sojourner as he was in the land, solitary and harm- 



252 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

less in his pursuits, how could he have provoked such 
hostility ? The tide of secret testimony, however, was 
too strong against him : he was convicted of the crime of 
magic, and condemned to expiate his sins at the stake, 
at the approaching auto dafe. 

While the unhappy alchemist was undergoing his trial 
at the inquisition, his daughter was exposed to trials no 
less severe. Don Ambrosio, into whose hands she had 
fallen, was, as has before been intimated, one of the most 
daring and lawless profligates in all Grenada. He was 
a man of hot blood and fiery passions, who stopped at 
nothing in the gratification of his desires ; yet with all 
this he possessed manners, address, and accomplish- 
ments, that had made him eminently successful among 
the sex. From the palace to the cottage he had ex- 
tended his amorous enterprises ; his serenades harassed 
the slumbers of half the husbands in Grenada ; no bal- 
cony was too high for his adventurous attempts ; nor any 
cottage too lowly for his perfidious seductions. Yet he 
was as fickle as he was ardent ; success had made him 
vain and capricious ; he had no sentiment to attach him 
to the victim of his arts ; and many a pale cheek and 
fading eye, languishing amidst the sparkling of jewels, 
and many a breaking heart, throbbing under the rustic 
bodice, bore testimony to his triumphs and his faith- 
lessness. 

He was sated, however, by easy conquests, and wea- 
ried of a life of continual and prompt gratification. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 253 

There liad been a degree of difficulty and enterprise in 
tlie pursuit of Inez, that he had never before expe- 
rienced. It had aroused him from the monotony of 
mere sensual life, and stimulated him with the charm 
of adventure. He had become an epicure in pleasure ; 
and now that he had this coy beauty in his power, he 
was determined to protract his enjoyment, by the grad- 
ual conquest of her scruples, and downfall of her virtue. 
He was vain of his person and address, which he 
thought no woman could long withstand ; and it was a 
kind of trial of skill to endeavor to gain by art and fasci- 
nation what he was secure of obtaining at any time by 
violence. 

When Inez, therefore, was brought to his presence by 
his emissaries, he affected not to notice her terror and 
surprise, but received her with formal and stately cour- 
tesy. He was too wary a fowler to flutter the bird when 
just entangled in the net. To her eager and wild in- 
quiries about her father, he begged her not to be 
alarmed ; that he was safe, and had been there, but was 
engaged elsewhere in an affair of moment, from which 
he would soon return ; in the meantime he had left 
word that she should await his return in patience. 
After some stately expressions of general civility, Don 
Ambrosio made a ceremonious bow, and retired. 

The mind of Inez was full of trouble and perplexity. 
The stately formality of Don Ambrosio was so unex- 
pected as to check the accusations and reproaches that 



254 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

were springing to her lips. Had lie liad evil designs, 
would lie have treated her with such frigid ceremony 
when he had her in his power ? But why, then, was she 
brought to his house ? Was not the mysterious disap- 
pearance of Antonio connected with this ? A thought 
suddenly darted into her mind. Antonio had again met 
with Don Ambrosio — they had fought — Antonio was 
wounded — perhaps dying! — ^It was him to whom her 
father had gone. It was at his request that Don Am- 
brosio had sent for them to soothe his dying moments ! 
These, and a thousand such horrible suggestions ha- 
rassed her mind ; but she tried in vain to get informa- 
tion from the domestics ; they knew nothing but that 
her father had been there, had gone, and would soon 
return. 

Thus passed a night of tumultuous thought and vague 
yet cruel apprehensions. She knew not what to do, or 
what to believe ; whether she ought to fly, or to remain ; 
but if to fly, how was she to extricate herself ? and where 
was she to seek her father ? As the day dawned without 
any intelligence of him, her alarm increased ; at length a 
message was brought from him, saying that circum- 
stances prevented his return to her, but begging her to 
hasten to him without delay. 

"With an eager and throbbing heart did she set forth 
with the men that were to conduct her. She little 
thought, however, that she was merely changing her 
prison-house. , Don Ambrosio had feared lest she should 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 255 

be traced to his residence in Grenada ; or that he might 
be interrupted there before he could accomplish his plan 
of seduction. He had her now conveyed, therefore, to a 
mansion which he possessed in one of the mountain sol- 
itudes in the neighborhood of Grenada ; a lonely, but 
beautiful retreat. In vain, on her arrival, did she look 
around for her father, or Antonio ; none but strange 
faces met her eye ; menials profoundly respectful, but 
who knew nor saw anything but what their master 
pleased. 

She had scarcely arrived before Don Ambrosio made 
his appearance, less stately in his manner, but still treat- 
ing her with the utmost delicacy and deference. Inez 
was too much agitated and alarmed to be baffled by his 
courtesy, and became vehement in her demand to be 
conducted to her father. 

Don Ambrosio now put on an appearance of the great- 
est embarrassment and emotion. After some delay, and 
much pretended confusion, he at length confessed that 
the seizure of her father was all a stratagem; a mere 
false alarm to procure him the present opportunity of 
having access to her, and endeavoring to mitigate that 
obduracy, and conquer that repugnance, which he de- 
clared had almost driven him to distraction. 

He assured her that her father was again at home in 
safety, and occupied in his usual pursuits ; having been 
fully satisfied that his daughter was in honorable hands, 
and would soon be restored to him. In vain she threw 



256 BRACEBBIDGE HALL. 

terself at his feet, and implored to be set at liberty ; lie 
only replied by gentle entreaties, that she would pardon 
the seeming violence he had to use ; and that she would 
trust a little while to his honor. "You are here," said 
he, " absolute mistress of everything : nothing shall be 
said or done to offend you ; I will not even intrude upon 
your ear the unhappy passion that is devouring my 
heart. Should you require it, I will even absent myself 
from your presence ; but to part with you entirely at 
present, with your mind full of doubts and resentments, 
would be worse than death to me. No, beautiful Inez, 
you must first know me a little better, and know my con- 
duct, that my passion for you is as delicate and respect- 
ful as it is vehement." 

The assurance of her father's safety had relieved Inez 
from one cause of torturing anxiety, only to render her 
fears more violent on her own account. Don Ambrosio, 
however, continued to treat her with artful deference, 
that insensibly lulled her apprehensions. It is true she 
found herself a captive, but no advantage appeared to be 
taken of her helplessness. She soothed herself with the 
idea that a little while would suffice to convince Don 
Ambrosio of the fallacy of his hopes, and that he would 
be induced to restore her to her home. Her transports 
of terror and affliction, therefore, subsided, in a few days, 
into a passive, yet anxious melancholy, with which she 
awaited the hoped-for event. 

In the meanwhile all those artifices were employed 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 257 

that are calculated to charm the senses, ensnare the feel- 
ings, and dissolve the heart into tenderness. Bon 
Ambrosio was a master of the subtle arts of seduction. 
His very mansion breathed an enervating atmosphere of 
languor and delight. It was here, amidst twilight saloons 
and dreamy chambers, buried among groves of orange 
and myrtle, that he shut himself up at times from the 
prying world, and gave free scope to the gratification of 
his pleasures. 

The apartments were furnished in the most sumptuous 
and voluptuous manner ; the silken couches swelled to 
the touch, and sank in downy softness beneath the slight- 
est pressure. The paintings and statues all told some 
classic tale of love, managed, however, with an insidious 
delicacy ; which, while it banished the grossness that 
might disgust, was the more calculated to excite the im- 
agination. There the blooming Adonis was seen, not 
breaking away to pursue the boisterous chase, but crown- 
ed with flowers, and languishing in the embraces of celes- 
tial beauty. There Acis wooed his Galatea in the shade, 
with the Sicilian sea spreading in halcyon serenity before 
them. There were depicted groups of fauns and dryads, 
fondly reclining in summer bowers, and listening to 
the liquid piping of the reed : or the wanton satyrs sur- 
prising some wood-nymph during her noontide slumber. 
There, too, on the storied tapestry, might be seen the 
chaste Diana, stealing, in the mystery of moonlight, to 
kiss the sleeping Eudymion; while Cupid and Psyche, 
17 



258 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

entwined in immortal marble, breathed on each other's 
lips the early kiss of love. 

The ardent rays of the sun were excluded from these 
balmy halls ; soft and tender music from unseen musi- 
cians floated around, seeming to mingle with the perfumes 
exhaled from a thousand flowers. At night, when the 
moon shed a fairy light over the scene, the tender sere- 
nade would rise from among the bowers of the garden, in 
which the fine voice of Don Ambrosio might often be 
distinguished; or the amorous flute would be heard 
along the mountain, breathing in its pensive cadences the 
very soul of a lover's melancholy. 

Various entertainments were also devised to dispel her 
loneliness and to charm away the idea of confinement. 
Groups of Andalusian dancers performed, in the splendid 
saloons, the various picturesque dances of their country ; 
or represented little amorous ballets, which turned upon 
some pleasing scene of pastoral coquetry and courtship. 
Sometimes there were bands of singers, who, to the ro- 
mantic guitar, warbled forth ditties full of passion and 
tenderness. 

Thus all about her enticed to pleasure and voluptuous- 
ness ; but the heart of Inez turned with distaste from 
this idle mockery. The tears would rush into her eyes 
as her thoughts reverted from this scene of profligate 
splendor to the humble but virtuous home whence she 
had been betrayed ; or if the witching power of music 
ever soothed her into a tender reverie, it was to dwell 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 259 

with fondness on the image of Antonio. But if Don Am- 
brosio, deceived by this transient calm, should attempt 
at such time to whisper his passion, she would start as 
from a dream, and recoil from him with involuntary 
shuddering. 

She had passed one long day of more than ordinary 
sadness, and in the evening a band of these hired per- 
formers were exerting all the animating powers of song 
and dance to amuse her. But while the lofty saloon re- 
sounded with their warblings, and the light sound of feet 
upon its marble pavement kept time to the cadence of 
the song, poor Inez, with her face buried in the silken 
couch on which she reclined, was only rendered more 
wretched by the sound of gayety. 

At length her attention was caught by the voice of one 
of the singers, that brought with it some indefinite recol- 
lections. She raised her head, and cast an anxious look 
at the performers, who, as usual, were at the lower end 
of the saloon. One of them advanced a little before the 
others. It was a female, dressed in a fanciful pastoral 
garb, suited to the character she was sustaining ; but her 
countenance was not to be mistaken. It was the same 
ballad-singer that had twice crossed her path, and given 
her mysterious intimations of the lurking mischief that 
surrounded her. "When the rest of the performances 
were concluded, she seized a tambourine, and tossing it 
aloft, danced alone to the melody of her own voice. In 
the course of her dancing she approached to where Inez 



260 BRAGEBRIBGE HALL. 

reclined : and as she struck the tambourine, contrived, 
dexterously, to throw a folded paper on the couch. Inez 
seized it with avidity, and concealed it in her bosom. 
The singing and dancing were at an end ; the motley 
crew retired ; and Inez, left alone, hastened with anxiety 
to unfold the paper thus mysteriously conveyed. It was 
written in an agitated, and almost illegible, handwriting : 
" Be on your guard ! you are surrounded by treachery. 
Trust not to the forbearance of Don Ambrosio ; you are 
marked out for his prey. An humble victim to his per- 
fidy gives you this warning ; she is encompassed by too 
many dangers to be more explicit. Your father is in the 
dungeons of the inquisition ! " 

The brain of Inez reeled as she read this dreadful 
scroll. She was less filled with alarm at her own danger, 
than horror at her father's situation. The moment Don 
Ambrosio appeared, she rushed and threw herself at his 
feet, imploring him to save her father. Don Ambrosio 
started with astonishment; but immediately regaining 
his self-possession, endeavored to soothe her by his 
blandishments, and by assurances that her father was 
in safety. She was not to be pacified; her fears were 
too much aroused to be trifled with. She declared her 
knowledge of her father's being a prisoner of the inqui- 
sition, and reiterated her frantic supplications that he 
would save him. 

Don Ambrosio paused for a moment in perplexity, but 
was too adroit to be easily confounded. " That your 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 261 

father is a prisoner," replied he, " I have long known. I 
have concealed it from you, to save you from fruitless 
anxiety. You now know the real reason of the restraint 
I have put upon your liberty : I have been protecting in- 
stead of detaining you. Every exertion has been made 
in your father's favor ; but I regret to say, the proofs of 
the offences of which he stands charged have been too 
strong to be controverted. Still," added he, " I have it in 
my power to save him ; I have influence, I have means at 
my beck ; it may involve me, it is true, in difficulties, per- 
haps in disgrace ; but what would I not do in the hopes 
of being rewarded by your favor? Speak, beautiful 
Inez," said he, his eyes kindling with sudden eagerness ; 
" it is with you to say the word that seals your father's 
fate. One kind word — say but you will be mine, and 
you will behold me at your feet, your father at liberty 
and in affluence, and we shall all be happy ! " 

Inez drew back from him with scorn and disbelief. 
" My father," exclaimed she, " is too innocent and blame- 
less to be convicted of crime ; this is some base, some 
cruel artifice ! " Don Ambrosio repeated his assevera- 
tions, and with them also his dishonorable proposals ; 
but his eagerness overshot its mark ; her indignation and 
her incredulity were alike awakened by his base sugges- 
tions; and he retired from her presence checked and 
awed by the sudden pride and dignity of her demeanor. 

The unfortunate Inez now became a prey to the most 
harrowing anxieties. Don Ambrosio saw that the mask 



262 BRACEBBIDGE HALL. 

had fallen from his face, and that the nature of his mach- 
inations was revealed. He had gone too far to retrace 
his steps, and assume the affectation of tenderness and 
respect ; indeed, he was mortified and incensed at her 
insensibility to his attractions, and now only sought to 
subdue her through her fears. He daily represented to 
her the dangers that threatened her father, and that it 
was in his power alone to avert them. Inez was still in- 
credulous. She was too ignorant of the nature of the in- 
quisition to know that even innocence was not always a 
protection from its cruelties ; and she confided too surely 
in the virtue of her father to believe that any accusation 
could prevail against him. 

At length Don Ambrosio, to give an effectual blow to 
her confidence, brought her the proclamation of the ap- 
proaching auto da fe in which the prisoners were enumer- 
ated. She glanced her eye over it, and beheld her fa- 
ther's name, condemned to the stake for sorcery. 

For a moment she stood transfixed with horror. Don 
Ambrosio seized upon the transient calm. " Think now, 
beautiful Inez," said he, with a tone of affected tender- 
ness, " his life is still in your hands ; one word from you, 
one kind word, and I can yet save him." 

" Monster ! wretch ! " cried she, coming to herself, and 
recoiling from him with insuperable abhorrence : " 'tis 
you that are the cause of this — 'tis you that are his 
murderer ! " Then, wringing her hands, she broke forth 
into exclamations of the most frantic agony. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 263 

The perfidious Ambrosio saw tlie torture of her soul, 
and anticipated from it a triumph. He saw that she was 
in no mood, during her present paroxysm, to listen to his 
words ; but he trusted that the horrors of lonely rumi- 
nation would break down her spirit, and subdue her to 
his will. In this, however, he was disappointed. Many 
were the vicissitudes of mind of the wretched Inez : one 
time she would embrace his knees with piercing suppli- 
cations ; at another she would shrink with nervous horror 
at his very approach ; but any intimation of his passion 
only excited the same emotion of loathing and detesta- 
tion. 

At length the fatal day drew nigh. " To-morrow," said 
Don Ambrosio, as he left her one evening, — " to-morrow 
is the auto da fe. To-morrow you will hear the sound of 
the bell that tolls your father to his death. You will al- 
most see the smoke that rises from his funeral-pile.. I 
leave you to yourself. It is yet in my power to save him. 
Think whether you can stand to-morrow's horrors with- 
out shrinking. Think whether you can endure the after- 
reflection, that you were the cause of his death, and that 
merely through a perversity in refusing proffered happi- 
ness." 

What a night was it to Inez! Her heart, already 
harassed and almost broken by repeated and protracted 
anxieties ; her strength wasted and enfeebled. On every 
side horrors awaited her; her father's death, her own 
dishonor : there seemed no escape from misery or per- 



264 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

dition. " Is tliere no relief from man — no pity in heaven? " 
exclaimed she. " What have we done that we should be 
thus wretched ? " 

As the dawn approached, the fever of her mind arose to 
agony ; a thousand times did she try the doors and win- 
dows of her apartment, in the desperate hope of escaping. 
Alas ! with all the splendor of her prison, it was too faith- 
fully secured for her weak hands to work deliverance. 
Like a poor bird, that beats its wings against its gilded 
cage, until it sinks panting in despair, so she threw her- 
self on the floor in hopeless anguish. Her blood grew 
hot in her veins, her tongue was parched, her temples 
throbbed with violence, she gasped rather than breathed ; 
it seemed as if her brain was on fire. "Blessed Virgin ! " 
exclaimed she, clasping her hands, and turning up her 
strained eyes, " look down with pity, and support me in 
this dreadful hour ! " 

Just as the day began to dawn, she heard a key turn 
softly in the door of her apartment. She dreaded lest it 
should be Don Ambrosio : and the very thought of him 
gave her a sickening pang. It was a female, clad in a 
rustic dress, with her face concealed by her mantilla. She 
stepped silently into the room, looked cautiously round, 
and then, uncovering her face, revealed the well-known 
features of the ballad-singer. Inez uttered an exclama- 
tion of surprise, almost of joy. The unknown started 
back, pressed her finger on her lips enjoining silence, and 
beckoned her to follow. She hastily wrapped herself in 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 265 

her veil, and obeyed. They passed witli quick but noise- 
less steps tlirough an antechamber, across a spacious 
hall, and along a corridor ; all was silent ; the household 
was yet locked in sleep. They came to the door, to which 
the unknown applied a key. Inez's heart misgave her ; 
she knew not but some new treachery was menacing her ; 
she laid her cold hand on the stranger's arm : " Whither 
are you leading me?" said she. "To liberty," replied 
the other in a whisper. 

" Do you know the passages about this mansion? " 

" But too well ! " replied the girl, with a melancholy 
shake of the head. There was an expression of sad ve- 
racity in her countenance that was not to be distrusted. 
The door opened on a small terrace which was over- 
looked by several windows of the mansion. 

" "We must move across this quickly," said the girl, " or 
we may be observed." 

They glided over it as if scarce touching the ground. A 
flight of steps led down into the garden ; a wicket at the 
bottom was readily unbolted; they passed with breath- 
less velocity along one of the alleys, still in sight of the 
mansion, in which, however, no person appeared to be 
stirring. At length they came to a low private door in 
the wall, partly hidden by a fig-tree. It was secured by 
rusty bolts, that refused to yield to their feeble efforts. 

"Holy Yirgin!" exclaimed the stranger, — "what is 
to be done ? one moment more, and we may be dis- 
covered." 



266 BRAGEBBIDQE HALL. 

She seized a stone tliat lay near by : a few blows, and 
tbe bolts flew back; the door grated harshly as they 
opened it, and the next moment they found themselves in 
a narrow road. 

" Now," said the stranger, " for Grenada as quickly as 
possible ! The nearer we approach it, the safer we shall 
be ; for the road will be more frequented." 

The imminent risk they ran of being pursued and taken 
gave supernatural strength to their limbs; they flew 
rather than ran. The day had dawned; the crimson 
streaks on the edge of the horizon gave tokens of the ap- 
proaching sunrise ; already the light clouds that floated 
in the western sky were tinged with gold and purple, 
though the broad plain of the Yega, which now began to 
open upon their view, was covered with the dark haze of 
the morning. As yet they only passed a few straggling 
peasants on the road, who could have yielded them no 
assistance in case of their being overtaken. They con- 
tinued to hurry forward, and had gained a considerable 
distance, when the strength of Inez, which had only been 
sustained by the fever of her mind, began to yield to 
fatigue : she slackened her pace, and faltered. 

" Alas ! " said she, " my limbs fail me ! I can go no 
farther ! " 

"Bear up, bear up," replied her companion cheer- 
ingly ; " a little farther, and we shall be safe : look ! 
yonder is Grenada, just showing itself in the valley below 
us. A little farther, and we shall come to the main road, 



TEE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 267 

and then we sliall find plenty of passengers to protect 
us." 

Inez, encouraged, made fresli efforts to get forward, 
but lier weary limbs were unequal to the eagerness of 
her mind ; her mouth and throat were parched by agony 
and terror : she gasped for breath, and leaned for sup- 
port against a rock. "It is all in vain! " exclaimed she ; 
" I feel as though I should faint." 

" Lean on me," said the other ; " let us get into the 
shelter of yon thicket, that will conceal us from view. I 
hear the sound of water, which will refresh you." 

With much difficulty they reached the thicket, which 
overhung a small mountain-stream, just where its spar- 
kling waters leaped over the rock and fell into a natural 
basin. Here Inez sank upon the ground exhausted. Her 
companion brought water in the palms of her hands, and 
bathed her pallid temples. The cooling drops revived 
her ; she was enabled to get to the margin of the stream, 
and drink of its crystal current ; then, reclining her head 
on the bosom of her deliverer, she was first enabled to 
murmur forth her heartfelt gratitude. 

"Alas! " said the other, "I deserve no thanks; I de- 
serve not the good opinion you express. In me you be- 
hold a victim of Don Ambrosio's arts. In early years he 
seduced me from the cottage of my parents : look ! at the 
foot of yonder blue mountain in the distance lies my na- 
tive village ; but it is no longer a home for me. He lured 
me thence when I was too young for reflection ; he edu- 



268 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

cated me, taught me various accomplishments, made me 
sensible to love, to splendor, to refinement ; then, having 
grown weary of me, he neglected me, and east me upon 
the world. Happily, the accomplishments he taught me 
have kept me from utter want ; and the love with which 
he inspired me has kept me from farther degradation. 
Yes ! I confess my weakness : all his perfidy and wrongs 
cannot efface him from my heart. I have been brought 
up to love him ; I have no other idol : I know him to be 
base, yet I cannot help adoring him. I am content to 
mingle among the hireling throng that administer to his 
amusements, that I may still hover about him, and linger 
in those halls where I once reigned mistress. "What 
merit, then, have I in assisting your escape ? I scarce 
know whether I am acting from sympathy and a desire 
to rescue another victim from his power, or jealousy and 
an eagerness to remove too powerful a rival ! " 

While she was yet speaking, the sun rose in all its 
splendor; first lighting up the mountain summits, then 
stealing down height by height, until its rays gilded the 
domes and towers of Grenada, which they could partially 
see from between the trees, below them. Just then the 
heavy tones of a bell came sounding from a distance, 
echoing, in sullen clang, along the mountain. Inez turned 
pale at the sound. She knew it to be the great bell of the 
cathedral, rung at sunrise on the day of the mdo da fe, to 
give note of funeral preparation. Every stroke beat upon 
her heart, and inflicted an absolute, corporeal pang. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 269 

She started up wildly. " Let us be gone ! " cried slie ; 
** there is not a moment for delay ! " 

" Stop ! " exclaimed the other, " yonder are horsemen 
coming over the brow of that distant height ; if I mis- 
take not, Don Ambrosio is at their head. Alas ! 'tis he ; 
we are lost. Hold ! " continued she ; " give me your scarf 
and veil ; wrap yourself up in this mantilla. I will fly 
up yon footpath that leads to the heights. I will let the 
veil flutter as I ascend; perhaps they may mistake me 
for you, and they must dismount to follow me. Do you 
hasten forward : you will soon reach the main road. 
You have jewels on your fingers : bribe the first mule- 
teer you meet to assist you on your way." 

All this was said with hurried and breathless rapidity. 
The exchange of garments was made in an instant. The 
girl darted up the mountain-path, her white veil flutter- 
ing among the dark shrubbery ; while Inez, inspired with 
new strength, or rather new terror, flew to the road, and 
trusted to Providence to guide her tottering steps to 
Grenada. 

All Grenada was in agitation on the morning of this 
dismal day. The heavy bell of the cathedral continued to 
utter its clanging tones, that pervaded every part of the 
city, summoning all persons to the tremendous spectacle 
about to be exhibited. The streets through which the 
procession was to pass were crowded with the populace. 
The windows, the roofs, every place that could admit a 
face or a foothold, was alive with spectators. In the 



270 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

great square a spacious scaffolding, like an amphitliea- 
tre, was erected, where the sentences of tlie prisoners 
were to be read, and the sermon of faith to be preached ; 
and close by were the stakes prepared, where the con- 
demned were to be burnt to death. Seats were arranged 
for the great, the gay, the beautiful ; for such is the hor- 
rible curiosity of human nature, that this cruel sacrifice 
was attended with more eagerness than a theatre, or 
even a bull-feast. 

As the day advanced, the scaffolds and balconies were 
filled with expecting multitudes ; the sun shone brightly 
upon fair faces and gallant dresses ; one would have 
thought it some scene of elegant festivity, instead of an 
exhibition of human agony and death. But what a dif- 
ferent spectacle and ceremony was this from those which 
Grenada exhibited in the days of her Moorish splendor. 
" Her galas, her tournaments, her sports of the ring, her 
fetes of St. John, her music, her Zambras, and admirable 
tilts of canes ! Her serenades, her concerts, her songs 
in Generaliffe ! The costly liveries of the Abencerrages, 
their exquisite inventions, the skill and valor of the 
Alabaces, the superb dresses of the Zegries, Mazas, and 
Gomeles ! " * — All these were at an end. The days of 
chivalry were over. Instead of the prancing cavalcade, 
with neighing steed and lively trumpet ; with burnished 
lance, and helm, and buckler ; with rich confusion of 

. * Eodd's Civil Wars of Grenada. 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 271 

plume, and scarf, and banner, where purple, and scarlet, 
and green, and orange, and every gay color, were min- 
gled with cloth of gold and fair embroidery ; instead of 
this crept on the gloomy pageant of superstition, in cowl 
and sackcloth ; with cross and coffin and frightful sym- 
bols of human suffering. In place of the frank, hardy 
knight, open and brave, with his lady's favor in his 
casque, and amorous motto on his shield, looking, by 
gallant deeds, to win the smile of beauty, came the 
shaven, unmanly monk, with downcast eyes, and head 
and heart bleached in the cold cloister, secretly exulting 
in this bigot triumph. 

The sound of the bells gave notice that the dismal 
procession was advancing. It passed slowly through the 
principal streets of the city, bearing in advance the awful 
banner of the holy office. The prisoners walked singly, 
attended by confessors, and guarded by familiars of the 
inquisition. They were clad in different garments ac- 
cording to the nature of their punishments ; — those who 
were to suffer death wore the hideous Samarra, painted 
with flames and demons. The procession was swelled 
by choirs of boys, different religious orders, and public 
dignitaries ; and, above all, by the fathers of the faith, 
moving " with slow pace, and profound gravity, truly tri- 
umphing as becojnes the principal generals of that great 
victory." * 

* Gronsalvius, p. 135. 



272 BBACEBRIBOE HALL. 

As tlie sacred banner of the inquisition advanced, the 
countless tlirong sunk on tlieir knees before it ; they 
bowed their faces to the very earth as it passed, and 
then slowly rose again, like a great undulating billow. 
A murmur of tongues prevailed as the prisoners ap- 
proached, and eager eyes were strained, and fingers 
pointed, to distinguish the different orders of penitents, 
whose habits denoted the degree of punishment they 
were to undergo. But as those drew near whose fright- 
ful garb marked them as destined to the flames, the noise 
of the rabble subsided ; they seemed almost to hold in 
their breaths ; filled with that strange and dismal inter- 
est with which we contemplate a human being on the 
verge of suffering and death. 

It is an awful thing — a voiceless, noiseless multitude ! 
The hushed and gazing stillness of the surrounding 
thousands, heaped on walls, and gates, and roofs, and 
hanging, as it were, in clusters, heightened the effect of 
the pageant that moved drearily on. The low murmur- 
ing of the priests could now be heard in prayer and ex- 
hortation, with the faint responses of the prisoners, and 
now and then the voices of the choir at a distance, chant- 
ing the litanies of the saints. 

The faces of the prisoners were ghastly and disconso- 
late. Even those who had been pardoned, and wore the 
Sanbenito, or penitential garment, bore traces of the 
horrors they had undergone. Some were feeble and 
tottering from long confinement ; some crippled and dis- 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 273 

torted by various tortures ; every countenance was a 
dismal page on whicli might be read the secrets of their 
prison-house. But in the looks of those condemned to 
death there was something fierce and eager. They 
seemed men harrowed up by the past, and desperate 
as to the future. They were anticipating, with spirits 
fevered by despair, and fixed and clenched determination, 
the vehement struggle with agony and death they were 
shortly to undergo. Some cast now and then a wild and 
anguished look about them upon the shining day ; the 
"sun-bright palaces," the gay, the beautiful world, 
which they were soon to quit forever; or a glance of 
sudden indignation at the thronging thousands, happy in 
liberty and life, who seemed, in contemplating their fright- 
ful situation, to exult in their own comparative security. 

One among the condemned, however, was an exception 
to these remarks. It was an aged man, somewhat bowed 
down, with a serene, though dejected countenance, and a 
beaming, melancholy eye. It was the alchemist. The 
populace looked upon him with a degree of compassion, 
which they were not prone to feel towards criminals con- 
demned by the inquisition ; but when they were told that 
he was convicted of the crime of magic, they drew back 
with awe and abhorrence. 

The procession had reached the grand square. The 
first part had already mounted the scaffolding, and the 
condemned were approaching. The press of the popu- 
lace became excessive, and was repelled, as it were, in 
18 



274 BBACEBEIDGE HALL. 

billows by tlie guards. Just as tlie condemned were 
entering tlie square, a shrieking was heard among the 
crowd. A female, pale, frantic, dishevelled, was seen 
struggling through the multitude. "My father! my 
father ! " was all the cry she uttered, but it thrilled 
through every heart. The crowd instinctively drew back, 
and made way for her as she advanced. 

The poor alchemist had made his peace with Heaven, 
and, by hard struggle, had closed his heart upon the 
world, when the voice of his child called him once more 
back to worldly thought and agony. He turned towards 
the well-known voice ; his knees smote together ; he 
endeavored to reach forth his pinioned arms, and felt 
himself clasped in the embraces of his child. The emo- 
tions of both were too agonizing for utterance. Convul- 
sive sobs, and broken exclamations, and embraces more 
of anguish than tenderness, were all that passed between 
them. The procession was interrupted for a moment. 
The astonished monks and familiars were filled with 
involuntary respect at this agony of natural affection. 
Ejaculations of pity broke from the crowd, touched by the 
filial piety, the extraordinary and hopeless anguish of so 
young and beautiful a being. 

Every attempt to soothe her, and prevail on her to re- 
tire, was unheeded ; at length they endeavored to sepa- 
rate her from her father by force. The movement roused 
her from her temporary abandonment. With a sudden 
paroxysm of fury, she snatched a sword from one of the 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 275 

familiars. Her late pale countenance was flushed with 
rage, and fire flashed from her once soft and languishing 
eyes. The guard shrunk back with awe. There was 
something in this filial frenzy, this feminine tenderness 
wrought up to desperation, that touched even their hard- 
ened hearts. They endeavored to pacify her, but in vain. 
Her eye was eager and quick as the she-wolf's guarding 
her young. With one arm she pressed her father to her 
bosom, with the other she menaced every one that ap- 
proached. 

The patience of the guards was soon exhausted. They 
had held back in awe, but not in fear. With all her des- 
peration the weapon was soon wrested from her feeble 
hand, and she was borne shrieking and struggling among 
the crowd. The rabble murmured compassion ; but such 
was the dread inspired by the inquisition, that no one 
attempted to interfere. 

The procession again resumed its march. Inez was 
ineffectually struggling to release herself from the hands 
of the familiars that detained her, when suddenly she 
saw Don Ambrosio before her. "Wretched girl!" ex- 
claimed he with fury, " why have you fled from your 
friends? Deliver her," said he to the familiars, "to my 
domestics ; she is under my protection." 

His creatures advanced to seize her. " Oh no ! oh 
no ! " cried she, with new terrors, and clinging to the 
familiars, " I have fled from no friends. He is not my 
protector ! He is the murderer of my father ! " 



276 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

The familiars were perplexed ; tlie crowd pressed on 
with eager curiosity. " Stand off ! " cried the fiery Am- 
brosio, dashing the throng from around him. Then 
turning to the familiars, with sudden moderation, " My 
friends," said he, "deliver this poor girl to me. Her 
distress has turned her brain ; she has escaped from her 
friends and protectors this morning; but a little quiet 
and kind treatment will restore her to tranquillity." 

" I am not mad ! I am not mad ! " cried she, vehe- 
mently. " Oh, save me ! — save me from these men ! I 
have no protector on earth but my father, and him they 
are murdering ! " 

The familiars shook their heads ; her wildness corrob- 
orated the assertions of Don Ambrosio, and his apparent 
rank commanded respect and belief. They relinquished 
their charge to him, and he was consigning the strug- 
gling Inez to his creatures 

" Let go your hold, villain ! " cried a voice from among 
the crowd, and Antonio was seen eagerly tearing his way 
through the press of people. 

" Seize him ! seize him ! " cried Don Ambrosio to the 
familiars ; " 'tis an accomplice of the sorcerer's." 

" Liar ! " retorted Antonio, as he thrust the mob to the 
right and left, and forced himself to the spot. 

The sword of Don Ambrosio flashed in an instant from 
the scabbard ; . the student was armed, and equally alert. 
There was a fierce clash of weapons ; the crowd made 
way for them, as they fought, and closed again, so as to 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 211 

hide tliem from tlie view of Inez. All was tumult and 
confusion for a moment ; when there was a kind of shout 
from the spectators, and the mob again opening, she be- 
held, as she thought, Antonio weltering in his blood. 

This new shock was too great for her already over- 
strained intellects. A giddiness seized upon her ; every- 
thing seemed to whirl before her eyes ; she gasped some 
incoherent words, and sunk senseless upon the ground. 

Days, weeks, elapsed before Inez returned to con- 
sciousness. At length she opened her eyes, as if out of 
a troubled sleep. She was lying upon a magnificent bed, 
in a chamber richly furnished with pier-glasses and mas- 
sive tables inlaid with silver, of exquisite workmanship. 
The walls were covered with tapestry; the cornices 
richly gilded : through the door which stood open, she 
perceived a superb saloon, with statues and crystal 
lustres, and a magnificent suit of apartments beyond. 
The casements of the room were open to admit the soft 
breath of summer, which stole in, laden with perfumes 
from a neighboring garden ; whence, also, the refreshing 
sound of fountains and the sweet notes of birds came in 
mingled music to her ear. 

Female attendants were moving, with noiseless step, 
about the chamber; but she feared to address them. 
She doubted whether this were not all delusion, or 
whether she was not still in the palace of Don Ambrosio, 
and that her escape, and all its circumstances, had not 
been but a feverish dream. She closed her eyes again, 



278 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

endeayoring to recall the past, and to separate the real 
from the imaginary. The last scenes of consciousness, 
however, rushed too forcibly, with all their horrors, to 
her mind to be doubted, and she turned shuddering from 
the recollection, to gaze once more on the quiet and 
serene magnificence around her. As she again opened 
her eyes, they rested on an object that at once dispelled 
every alarm. At the head of her bed sat a venerable 
form watching over her with a look of fond anxiety, — it 
was her father ! 

I will not attempt to describe the scene that ensued ; 
nor the moments of rapture which more than repaid all 
the sufferings her affectionate heart had undergone. As 
soon as their feelings had become more calm, the alche- 
mist stepped out of the room to introduce a stranger, to 
whom he was indebted for his life and liberty. He re- 
turned, leading in Antonio, no longer in his poor scholar's 
garb, but in the rich dress of a nobleman. 

The feelings of Inez were almost overpowered by these 
sudden reverses, and it was some time before she was 
sufficiently composed to comprehend the explanation of 
this seeming romance. 

It appeared that the lover, who had sought her af- 
fections in the lowly guise of a student, was only son and 
heir of a powerful grandee of Valencia. He had been 
placed at the university of Salamanca ; but a lively curi- 
osity, and an eagerness for adventure, had induced him to 
abandon the liniversity, without his father's consent, and 



TEE 8TVDENT OF SALAMANCA. 279 

to visit various parts of Spain. His rambling inclina- 
tion satisfied, lie had remained incognito for a time at 
Grenada, until, by farther study and self-regulation, he 
could prepare himself to return home with credit, 
and atone for his transgressions against paternal au- 
thority. 

How hard he had studied does not remain on record. 
All that we know is his romantic adventure of the tower. 
It was at first a mere youthful caprice, excited by a 
glimpse of a beautiful face. In becoming a disciple of 
the alchemist, he probably thought of nothing more than 
pursuing a light love-affair. Farther acquaintance, how- 
ever, had completely fixed his affections ; and he had de- 
termined to conduct Inez and her father to Yalencia, and 
trust to her merits to secure his father's consent to their 
union. 

In the meantime he had been traced to his conceal- 
ment. His father had received intelligence of his being 
entangled in the snares of a mysterious adventurer and 
his daughter, and likely to become the dupe of the fas- 
cinations of the latter. Trusty emissaries had been dis- 
patched to seize upon him by main force, and convey him 
without delay to the paternal home. 

What eloquence he had used with his father to con- 
vince him of the innocence, the honor, and the high de- 
scent of the alchemist, and of the exalted worth of his 
daughter, does not appear. All that we know is, that the 
father, though a very passionate, was a very reasonable 



280 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

man, as appears by his consenting that his son should 
return to Grenada, and conduct Inez, as his affianced 
bride, to Valencia. 

Away, then, Don Antonio hurried back, full of joyous 
anticipations. He still forbore to throw off his disguise, 
foiidly picturing to himself what would be the surprise 
of Inez, when, having won her heart and hand as a poor 
wandering scholar, he should raise her and her father at 
once to opulence and splendor. 

On his arrival he had been shocked at finding the 
tower deserted of its inhabitants. In vain he sought for 
intelligence concerning them ; a mystery hung over their 
disappearance which he could not penetrate, until he was 
thunderstruck, on accidentally reading a list of the pris- 
oners at the impending auto dafe, to find the name of his 
venerable master among the condemned. 

It was the very morning of the execution. The pro- 
cession was already on its way to the grand square. Not 
a moment was to be lost. The grand inquisitor was a 
relation of Don Antonio, though they had never met. 
His first impulse was to make himself known ; to exert 
all his family influence, the weight of his name, and the 
power of his eloquence, in vindication of the alchemist. 
But the grand inquisitor was already proceeding, in 
all his pomp, to the place where the fatal ceremony 
was to be performed. How was he to be approached ? 
Antonio threw himself into the crowd, in a fever of anx- 
iety, and was' forcing his way to the scene of horror, 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 281 

where tie arrived just in time to rescue Inez, as has been 
mentioned. 

It was Don Ambrosio that fell in the contest. Being 
desperately wounded, and thinking his end approaching, 
he had confessed, to an attending father of the inquisi- 
tion, that he was the sole cause of the alchemist's con- 
demnation, and that the evidence on which it was 
grounded was altogether false. The testimony of Don 
Antonio came in corroboration of this avowal; and his 
relationship to the grand inquisitor had, in all probabil- 
ity, its proper weight. Thus was the poor alchemist 
snatched, in a manner, from the very flames ; and so great 
had been the sympathy awakened in his case, that for 
once a populace rejoiced at being disappointed of an exe- 
cution. 

The residue of the story may readily be imagined by 
every one versed in this valuable kind of history. Don 
Antonio espoused the lovely Inez, and took her and her 
father with him to Valencia. As she had been a loving 
and dutiful daughter, so she proved a true and tender 
wife. It was not long before Don Antonio succeeded to 
his father's titles and estates, and he and his fair spouse 
were renowned for being the handsomest and happiest 
couple in all Valencia. 

As to Don Ambrosio, he partially recovered to the en- 
joyment of a broken constitution and a blasted name, 
and hid his remorse and disgraces in a convent ; while 
the poor victim of his arts, who had assisted Inez in her 



282 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

escape, unable to conquer the early passion that he had 
awakened in her bosom, though convinced of the base- 
ness of the object, retired from the world, and became a 
humble sister in a nunnery. 

The worthy alchemist took up his abode with his chil- 
dren. A pavilion, in the garden of their palace, was 
assigned to him as a laboratory, where he resumed his 
researches, with renovated ardor, after the grand secret. 
He was now and then assisted by his son-in-law ; but 
the latter slackened grievously in his zeal and diligence 
after marriage. Still he would listen with profound 
gravity and attention to the old man's rhapsodies, and 
his quotations from Paracelsus, Sandivogius, and Pietro 
d'Abano, which daily grew longer and longer. In this 
way the good alchemist lived on quietly and comfort- 
ably, to what is called a good old age, that is to say, an 
age that is good for nothing, and, unfortunately for man- 
kind, was hurried out of life in his ninetieth year, just 
as he was on the point of discovering the philosopher's 
stone. 

Such was the story of the captain's friend, with which 
we whiled away the morning. The captain was, every 
now and then, interrupted by questions and remarks, 
which I have not mentioned, lest I should break the 
continuity of the tale. He was a little disturbed, also, 
once or twice, by the general, who fell asleep, and 
breathed rather hard, to the great horror and annoyance 



THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 283 

of Lady Lillycraft. In a long and tender love-scene, 
also, which, was particularly to her ladyship's taste, the 
unlucky general, having his head a little sunk upon his 
breast, kept making a sound at regular intervals, very 
much like the word pisli, long drawn out. At length he 
made an odd, abrupt, guttural sound, that suddenly 
awoke him; he hemmed, looked about with a slight 
degree of consternation, and then began to play with her 
ladyship's work-bag, which, however, she rather pettishly 
withdrew. The steady sound of the captain's voice was 
still too potent a soporific for the poor general ; he kept 
gleaming up and sinking in the socket, until the cessa- 
tion of the tale again roused him, when he started 
awake, put his foot down upon Lady Lillycraft' s cur, the 
sleeping Beauty, which yelped, seized him by the leg, 
and in a moment the whole library resounded with yelp- 
ings and exclamations. Never did a man more com- 
pletely mar his fortunes while he was asleep. Silence 
being at length restored, the company expressed their 
thanks to the captain, and gave various opinions of the 
story. The parson's mind, I found, had been contin- 
ually running upon the leaden manuscripts, mentioned 
in the beginning, as dug up at Grenada, and he put sev- 
eral eager questions to the captain on the subject. The 
general could not well make out the drift of the story, 
but thought it a little confused. " I am glad, however," 
said he, " that they burnt the old chap in the tower ; I 
have no doubt he was a notorious impostor." 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 

His certain life that never can deceive him, 

Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content : 
The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him 

With coolest shade, till noontide's heat be spent. 
His life is neither tost in boistei'ous seas 

Or the vexatious world ; or lost in slothful ease. 
Pleased and full blest he lives when he his God can please. 

Phineas Fletcheb. 




TAKE great pleasure in accompanying the 
Squire in his perambulations about his estate, 
in which he is often attended by a kind of cab- 
inet council. His prime minister, the steward, is a very 
worthy and honest old man, who assumes a right of way ; 
that is to say, a right to have his own way, from having 
lived time out of mind on the place. He loves the estate 
even better than he does the Squire ; and thwarts the lat- 
ter sadly in many of his projects of improvement, being 
a little prone to disapprove of every plan that does not 
originate with himself. 

In the course of one of these perambulations, I have 
known the Squire to point out some important alteration 
which he was contemplating, in the disposition or culti- 
vation of the grounds ; this of course will be opposed by 

384 



ENGLISH COVNTBT GENTLEMEN. 285 

the steward, and a long argument would ensue over a 
stile, or on a rising piece of ground, until the Squire, who 
had a high opinion of the other's ability and integrity, 
would be fain to give up the point. This concession, I 
observed, would immediately mollify the old man, and, 
after walking over a field or two in silence, with his 
hands behind his back, chewing the cud of reflection, he 
would suddenly turn to the Squire, and observe, that " he 
had been turning the matter over in his mind, and, upon 
the whole, he believed he would take his honor's advice."* 

Christy, the huntsman, is another of the Squire's oc- 
casional attendants, to whom he continually refers in all 
matters of local history, as to a chronicle of the estate, 
having, in a manner, been acquainted with many of the 
trees from the very time that they were acorns. Old 
Nimrod, as has been shown, is rather pragmatical in 
those points of knowledge on which he values himself ; 
but the Squire rarely contradicts him, and is, in fact, one 
of the most indulgent potentates that was ever hen- 
pecked by his ministry. 

He often laughs about it himself, and evidently yields 
to these old men more from the bent of his own humor 

* The reader who has perused a little work published by the author 
several years subsequently to Bracebridge Hall, narrating a visit to 
Abbotsford, will detect the origin of the above anecdote in the confer- 
ences between Sir Walter Scott and his right-hand man, Tommy Pur- 
die. Indeed, the author is indebted for several of his traits of the Squire 
to observations made on Sir Walter Scott during that visit ; though he 
had to be cautious and sparing in drawing from that source. 



286 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

than from any want of proper authority. He likes this 
honest independence of old age, and is well aware that 
these trusty followers love and honor him in their 
hearts. He is perfectly at ease about his own dignity 
and the respect of those around him ; nothing disgusts 
him sooner than any appearance of fawning or syco- 
phancy. 

I really have seen no display of royal state that could 
compare with one of the Squire's progresses about his 
paternal fields and through his hereditary woodlands, 
with several of these faithful adherents about him, and 
followed by a bodyguard of dogs. He encourages a 
frankness and manliness of deportment among his de- 
pendants, and is the personal friend of his tenants ; 
inquiring into their concerns, and assisting them in 
times of difficulty and hardship. This has rendered 
him one of the most popular, and of course one of the 
happiest of landlords. 

Indeed, I do not know a more enviable condition of 
life than that of an English gentleman, of sound judg- 
ment and good feelings, who passes the greater part of 
his time on an hereditary estate in the country. From 
the excellence of the roads and the rapidity and exact- 
ness of public conveyances, he is enabled to command 
all the comforts and conveniences, all the intelligence 
and novelties of the capital, while he is removed from 
its hurry and distraction. He has ample means of occu- 
pation and amoisement within his own domains ; he may 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 287 

diversify his time by rural occupations, by rural sj^orts, 
by study, and by the delights of friendly society col- 
lected within his own hospitable halls. 

Or if his views and feelings are of a more extensive 
and liberal nature, he has it greatly in his power to do 
good, and to have that good immediately reflected back 
upon himself. He can render essential services to his 
country by assisting in the disinterested administration 
of the laws ; by watching over the opinions and prin- 
ciples of the lower orders around him ; by diffusing 
among them those lights important to their welfare ; by 
mingling frankly among them, gaining their confidence, 
becoming the immediate auditor of their complaints, in- 
forming himself of their wants, making himself a channel 
through which their grievances may be quietly communi- 
cated to the proper sources of mitigation and relief ; or 
by becoming, if need be, the intrepid and incorruptible 
guardian of their liberties — the enlightened champion 
of their rights. 

All this can be done without any sacrifice of personal 
dignity, without any degrading arts of popularity, with- 
out any truckling to vulgar prejudices or concurrence 
in vulgar clamor ; but by the steady influence of sincere 
and friendly counsel, of fair, upright, and generous de- 
portment. Whatever may be said of English mobs and 
English demagogues, I have never met with a people 
more open to reason, more considerate in their tempers, 
more tractable by argument in the roughest times, than 



288 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

tlie Englisli. They are remarkable quick at discerning 
and appreciating whatever is manly and honorable. 
They are by nature and habit methodical and orderly ; 
and they feel the value of all that is regular and respect- 
able. They may occasionally be deceived by sophistry, 
and excited into turbulence by public distresses and the 
misrepresentations of designing men ; but open their 
eyes, and they will eventually rally round the landmarks 
of steady truth and deliberate good sense. They are 
fond of established customs and long-established names ; 
and that love of order and quiet which characterizes the 
nation gives a vast influence to the descendants of the 
old families, whose forefathers had been lords of the soil 
from time immemorial. 

It is when the rich and well-educated and highly- 
privileged classes neglect their duties, when they neglect 
to study the interests, and conciliate the affections, and 
instruct the opinions and champion the rights of the 
people, that the latter become discontented and turbu- 
lent, and fall into the hands of demagogues : the dema- 
gogue always steps in where the patriot is wanting. 
There is a common high-handed cant among the high- 
feeding, and, as they fancy themselves, high-minded 
men, about putting down the mob ; but all true physi- 
cians know that it is better to sweeten the blood than 
attack the tumor, to apply the emollient rather than the 
cautery. It is absurd in a country like England, where 
there is so ijauch freedom and such a jealousy of right, 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 289 

for any man to assume an aristocratical tone, and talk 
superciliously of the common people. There is no rank 
that makes him independent of the opinions and affec- 
tions of his fellow-men, there is no rank nor distinction 
that severs him from his fellow-subjects ; and if, by any 
gradual neglect or assumption on the one side, and dis- 
content and jealousy on the other, the orders of society 
should really separate, let those who stand on the emi- 
nence beware that the chasm is not mining at their feet. 
The orders of society in all well-constituted governments 
are mutually bound together, and important to each 
other ; there can be no such thing in a free government 
as a vacuum ; and whenever one is likely to take place, 
by the drawing off of the rich and intelligent from the 
poor, the bad passions of society will rush in to fill up 
the space, and rend the whole asunder. 

Though born and brought up in a republic, and more 
and more confirmed in republican principles by every 
year's observation and experience, I am not insensible to 
the excellence that may exist in other forms of govern- 
ment ; nor to the fact that they may be more suitable to 
the situation and circumstances of the countries in which 
they exist ; I have endeavored rather to look at them as 
they are, and to observe how they are calculated to effect 
the end which they propose. Considering, therefore, the 
mixed nature of the government of this country, and its 
representative form, I have looked with admiration at the 

manner in which the wealth and influence and intelli- 
19 



290 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

gence -were spread over its whole surface, — not, as in 
some monarcliies, drained from tlie country, and collected 
in towns and cities. I have considered the great rural 
establishments of the nobility, and the lesser establish- 
ments of the gentry, as so many reservoirs of wealth and 
intelligence distributed about the kingdom, apart from 
the towns, to irrigate, freshen, and fertilize the surround- 
ing country. I have looked upon them, too, as the august 
retreat of patriots and statesmen, where, in the enjoy- 
ment of honorable independence and elegant leisure, they 
might train up their minds to appear in those legislative 
assemblies whose debates and decisions form the study 
and precedents of other nations, and involve the inter- 
ests of the world, 

I have been both surprised and disappointed, there- 
fore, at finding that on this subject I was often indulging 
in an Utopian dream, rather than a well-founded opinion. 
I have been concerned at finding that these fine estates 
were too often involved, and mortgaged, or placed in the 
hands of creditors, and the owners exiled from their 
paternal lands. There is an extravagance, I am told, 
that runs parallel with wealth ; a lavish expenditure 
among the great ; a senseless competition among the as- 
piring ; a heedless, joyous dissipation, among all the up- 
per ranks, that often beggars even these splendid estab- 
lishments, breaks down the pride and principles of their 
possessors, and makes too many of them mere place-hunt- 
ers, or shifting absentees. It is thus that so many are 



ENQLISH GOVNTBT GENTLEMEN. 291 

thrown into tlie hands of government ; and a court wliicli 
ought to be the most pure and honorable in Europe, is so 
often degraded by noble but importunate time-servers. 
It is thus, too, that so many become exiles from their 
native land, crowding the hotels of foreign countries, and 
expending upon thankless strangers the wealth so hardly 
drained from their laborious peasantry. I have looked 
upon these latter with a mixture of censure and concern. 
Knowing the almost bigoted fondness of an Englishman 
for his native home, I can conceive what must be their 
compunction and regret, when, amidst the sun-burnt 
plains of Erance, they call to mind the green fields of 
England, the hereditary groves which they have aban- 
doned, and the hospitable roof of their fathers, which 
they have left desolate, or to be inhabited by strangers. 
But retrenchment is no plea for abandonment of country. 
They have risen with the prosperity of the land ; let 
them abide its fluctuations, and conform to its fortunes. 
It is not for the rich to fly because the country is suffer- 
ing : let them share, in their relative proportion, the com- 
mon lot ; they owe it to the land that has elevated them 
to honor and affluence. "When the poor have to diminish 
their scanty morsels of bread ; when they have to com- 
pound with the cravings of nature, and study with how 
little they can do, and not be starved ; it is not then for 
the rich to fly, and diminish still farther the resources of 
the poor, that they themselves may live in splendor in a 
cheaper country. Let them rather retire to their estates, 



292 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

and tliere practice retrencliment. Let them return to 
tliat noble simplicity, that practical good sense, that hon- 
est pride, which form the foundation of true English 
character, and from them they may again rear the edifice 
of fair and honorable prosperity. 

On the rural habits of the English nobility and gentry, 
on the manner in which they discharge their duties on 
their patrimonial possessions, depend greatly the virtue 
and welfare of the nation. So long as they pass the 
greater part of their time in the quiet and purity of the 
country ; surrounded by the monuments of their illustri- 
ous ancestors ; surrounded by everything that can inspire 
generous pride, noble emulation, and amiable and mag- 
nanimous sentiment ; so long they are safe, and in them 
the nation may repose its interest and its honor. But 
the moment that they become the servile throngers of 
court avenues, and give themselves up to the political in- 
trigues and heartless dissipations of the metropolis, that 
moment they lose the real nobility of their natures, and 
become the mere leeches of the country. 

That the great majority of nobility and gentry in Eng- 
land are endowed with high notions of honor and inde- 
pendence, I thoroughly believe. They have evidenced it 
lately on very important questions, and have given an ex- 
ample of adherence to principle, in preference to party 
and power, that must have astonished many of the venal 
and obsequious courts of Europe. Such are the glorious 
effects of freedom, when infused into a constitution. But 



ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 293 

it seems to me tliat tliey are apt to forget the positive 
nature of tlieir duties, and to consider their eminent 
privileges only as so many means of self-indulgence. 
They should recollect that in a constitution like that of 
England the titled orders are intended to be as useful as 
they are ornamental, and it is their virtues alone that can 
render them both. Their duties are divided between the 
sovereign and the subjects ; surrounding and giving lustre 
and dignity to the throne, and at the same time temper- 
ing and mitigating its rays, until they are transmitted in 
mild and genial radiance to the people. Born to leisure 
and opulence, they owe the exercise of their talents, and 
the expenditure of their wealth, to their native country. 
They may be compared to the clouds ; which, being 
drawn up by the sun, and elevated in the heavens, reflect 
and magnify his splendor, — while they repay the earth, 
whence they derive their sustenance, by returning their 
treasures to its bosom in fertilizing showers. 




A BACHELOK'S CONFESSIONS. 

" I'll live a private, pensive, single life." 

The Collier of Cbotdon. 

WAS sitting in my room, a morning or two 
since, reading, wlien some one tapped at tlie 
door, and Master Simon entered. He had an un- 
usually fresh appearance ; he wore a bright-green riding- 
coat, with a bunch of violets in the button-hole, and had 
the air of an old bachelor trying to rejuvenate himself. 
He had not, however, his usual briskness and vivacity ; 
but loitered about the room with somewhat of absence of 
manner, humming the old song, — "Go, lovely rose, tell 
her that wastes her time and me ; " and then, leaning 
against the window, and looking upon the landscape, he 
uttered a very audible sigh. As I had not been accus- 
tomed to see Master Simon in a pensive mood, I thought 
there might be some vexation preying on his mind, and 
endeavored to introduce a cheerful strain of conversa- 
tion ; but he was not in the vein to follow it up, and pro- 
posed a walk. 

It was a beautiful morning of that soft vernal tempera- 
ture which seems to thaw all the frost out of one's blood, 
and set all nature in a ferment. The very fishes felt its 

294 



A BACHELOB'S CONFESSIONS. 295 

influence : tlie cautious trout ventured out of his dark 
hole to seek his mate ; the roach and the dace rose up to 
the surface of the brook to bask in the sunshine ; and 
the amorous frog piped from among the rushes. If ever 
an oyster can really fall in love, as has been said or sung, 
it must be on such a morning. 

The weather certainly had its effect upon Master 
Simon, for he seemed obstinately bent upon the pensive 
mood. Instead of stepping briskly along, smacking his 
dog-whip, whistling quaint ditties, or telling sporting 
anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, and talked about the 
approaching nuptials, whence he made several digres- 
sions upon the character of womankind, touched a little 
upon the tender passion, and made sundry very excellent, 
though rather trite, observations upon disappointments 
in love. It was evident he had something on his mind 
which he wished to impart, but felt awkward in ap- 
proaching it. I was curious to see what this strain 
would lead to, but determined not to assist him. In- 
deed, I mischievously pretended to turn the conversation, 
and talked of his usual topics, dogs, horses, and hunting ; 
but he was very brief in his replies, and invariably got 
back, by hook or by crook, into the sentimental vein. 

At length we came to a clump of trees overhanging a 
whispering brook, with a rustic bench at their feet. The 
trees were grievously scored with letters and devices, 
grown out of all shape and size by the growth of the 
bark J and it appeared that this grove had served as a 



296 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

kind of register of the family loves from time immemo- 
rial. Here Master Simon made a pause, pulled up a tuft 
of flowers, threw them one by one into the water, and at 
length, turning somewhat abruptly upon me, asked me if 
I had ever been in love. I confess the question startled 
me a little, as I am not over-fond of making confessions 
of my amorous follies, and above all should never dream 
of choosing my friend Master Simon for a confidant. 
He did not wait, however, for a reply ; the inquiry was 
merely a prelude to a confession on his own part; and 
after several circumlocutions and whimsical preambles, 
he fairly disburdened himself of a very tolerable story of 
his having been crossed in love. 

The reader will, very probably, suppose that it related 
to the gay widow who jilted him not long since at Don- 
caster races ; — no such thing. It was about a senti- 
mental passion that he once had for a most beautiful 
young lady, who wrote poetry and played on the harp. 
He used to serenade her ; and, indeed, he described 
several tender and gallant scenes, in which he was evi- 
dently picturing himself in his mind's eye as some ele- 
gant hero of romance, though, unfortunately for the tale, 
I only saw him as he stood before me, a dapper little old 
bachelor, with a face like an apple that had dried with 
the bloom on it. 

What were the particulars of this tender tale I have 
already forgotten ; indeed, I listened to it with a heart 
like a very pebble-stone, having hard work to repress 



A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. 297 

a smile while Master Simon was putting on the amorous 
swain, uttering every now and then a sigh, and endeavor- 
ing to look sentimental and melancholy. 

All that I recollect, is, that the lady, according to his 
account, was certainly a little touched ; for she used to 
accept all the music that he copied for her harp, and all 
the patterns that he drew for her dresses ; and he began 
to flatter himself, after a long course of delicate atten- 
tions, that he was gradually fanning up a gentle flame in 
her heart, when she suddenly accepted the hand of a 
rich, boisterous, fox-hunting baronet, without either 
music or sentiment, who carried her by storm, after a 
fortnight's courtship. 

Master Simon could not help concluding by some ob- 
servation about " modest merit," and the power of gold 
over the sex. As a remembrance of his passion, he 
pointed out a heart carved on the bark of one of the 
trees, but which, in the process of time, had grown out 
into a large excrescence ; and he showed me a lock of 
her hair, which he wore in a true lover's knot, in a large 
gold brooch. 

I have seldom met with an old bachelor who had not, 
at some time or other, his nonsensical moment, when he 
would become tender and sentimental, talk about the 
concerns of the heart, and have some confession of a 
delicate nature to make. Almost every man has some 
little trait of romance in his life, to which he looks back 
with fondness, and about which he is apt to grow garru- 



298 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

lous occasionally. He recollects himself as he was at 
the time, young and gamesome, and forgets that his 
hearers have no other idea of the hero of the tale but 
such as he may appear at the time of telling it ; perad- 
venture, a withered, whimsical, spindle-shanked old gen- 
tleman. "With married men, it is true, this is not so 
frequently the case ; their amorous romance is apt to 
decline after marriage ; why, I cannot for the life of me 
imagine ; but with a bachelor, though it may slumber, 
it never dies. It is always liable to break out again in 
transient flashes, and never so much as on a spring 
morning in the country, or on a winter evening when 
seated in his solitary chamber, stirring up the fire and 
talking of matrimony. 

The moment Master Simon had gone through his con- 
fession, and, to use the common phrase, "had made a 
clean breast of it," he became quite himself again. He 
had settled the point which had been worrying his mind, 
and doubtless considered himself established as a man 
of sentiment in my opinion. Before we had finished our 
morning's stroll, he was singing as blithe as a grasshop- 
per, whistling to his dogs, and telling droll stories ; and 
I recollect that he was particularly facetious that day at 
dinner on the subject of matrimony, and uttered several 
excellent jokes, not to be found in Joe Miller, that made 
the bride elect blush and look down, but set all the old 
gentlemen at the table in a roar, and absolutely brought 
tears into the general's eyes. 



ENGLISH GRAVITY. 

"Merrie England! " 

Ancient Phrase. 



HEEE is nothing so rare as for a man to ride 
liis hobby without molestation. I find the 
Squire has not so undisturbed an indulgence in 
his humors as I had imagined ; but has been repeatedly 
thwarted of late, and has suffered a kind of well-meaning 
persecution from a Mr. Faddy, an old gentleman of some 
weight, at least of purse, who has recently moved into 
the neighborhood. He is a worthy and substantial 
manufacturer, who, having accumulated a large fortune 
by dint of steam-engines and spinning-jennies, has re- 
tired from business, and set up for a country gentleman. 
He has taken an old country seat, and refitted it; and 
painted and plastered it until it looks not unlike his own 
manufactory. He has been particularly careful in mend- 
ing the walls and hedges, and putting up notices of 
spring-guns and man-traps in every part of his premises. 
Indeed, he shows great jealousy about his territorial 
rights, having stopped up a footpath which led across 
his fields ; and given warning, in staring letters, that 

299 



300 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

whoever was found trespassing on those grounds would 
be prosecuted witli the utmost rigor of the law. He has 
brought into the country with him all the practical max- 
ims of the town, and the bustling habits of business ; and 
is one of those sensible, useful, prosing, troublesome, in- 
tolerable old gentlemen, who go about wearying and 
worrying society with excellent plans for public utility. 

He is very much disposed to be on intimate terms with 
the Squire, and calls on him every now and then, with 
some project for the good of the neighborhood, which 
happens to run diametrically opposite to some one or 
other of the Squire's peculiar notions, but which is " too 
sensible a measure " to be openly opposed. He has an- 
noyed him excessively by enforcing the vagrant laws ; 
persecuting the gypsies, and endeavoring to suppress 
country wakes and holiday games ; which he considers 
great nuisances, and reprobates as causes of the deadly 
sin of idleness. 

There is evidently in all this a little of the ostentation 
of newly acquired consequence ; the tradesman is gradu- 
ally swelling into the aristocrat ; and he begins to grow 
excessively intolerant of everything that is not genteel. 
He has a great deal to say about "the common people " ; 
talks much of his park, his preserves, and the necessity 
of enforcing the game-laws more strictly; and makes 
frequent use of the phrase, " the gentry of the neighbor- 
hood." 

He came t6 the Hall lately, with a face full of busi- 



ENGLISH GBAVITT. 301 

ness, that lie and the Squire, to use his own words, 
"might lay their heads together," to hit upon some 
mode of putting a stop to the frolicking at the village on 
the approaching May-day. It drew, he said, idle people 
together from all parts of the neighborhood, who spent 
the day fiddling, dancing, and carousing, instead of stay- 
ing at home to work for their families. 

Now, as the Squire, unluckily, is at the bottom of these 
May-day revels, it may be supposed that these sugges- 
tions of the sagacious Mr. Faddy were not received with 
the best grace in the world. It is true, the old gentle- 
man is too courteous to show any temper to a guest in 
his own house ; but no sooner was he gone than the in- 
dignation of the Squire found vent, at having his poetical 
cobwebs invaded by this buzzing blue-bottle fly of traffic. 
In his warmth he inveighed against the whole race of 
manufacturers, who, I found, were sore disturbers of his 
comfort. " Sir," said he, with emotion, " it makes my 
heart bleed to see all our fine streams dammed up and 
bestrode by cotton-mills ; our valleys smoking with 
steam-engines, and the din of the hammer and the loom 
scaring away all our rural delights. What's to become of 
merry old England, when its manor-houses are all turned 
into manufactories, and its sturdy peasantry into pin- 
makers and stocking- weavers ? I have looked in vain for 
merry Sherwood, and all the greenwood haunts of Eobin 
Hood ; the whole country is covered with manufacturing 
towns. I have stood on the ruins of Dudley Castle, and 



302 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

looked round, witli an aching heart, on what were once 
its feudal domains of verdant and beautiful country. Sir, 
I beheld a mere campus phlegrse ; a region of fire ; reek- 
ing with coal-pits, and furnaces, and smelting-houses, 
vomiting forth flames and smoke. The pale and ghastly 
people, toiling among vile exhalations, looked more like 
demons than human beings ; the clanking wheels and en- 
gines, seen through the murky atmosphere, looked like 
instruments of torture in this pandemonium. What is to 
become of the country with these evils rankling in its 
very core ? Sir, these manufacturers will be the ruin of 
our rural manners ; they will destroy the national cha- 
racter ; they will not leave materials for a single line of 
poetry ! " 

The Squire is apt to wax eloquent on such themes ; and 
I could hardly help smiling at this whimsical lamenta- 
tion over national industry and public improvement. I 
am told, however, that he really grieves at the growing of 
trade, as destroying the charm of life. He considers 
every new short-hand mode of doing things as an inroad 
of snug sordid method; and thinks that this will soon 
become a mere matter-of-fact world, where life will be re- 
duced to a mathematical calculation of conveniences, and 
everything will be done by steam. 

He maintains, also, that the nation has declined in its 
free and joyous spirit in proportion as it has turned its 
attention to commerce and manufactures ; and that in old 
times, when England was an idler, it was also a merrier 



ENGLISH GBA VITY. 393 

little island. In support of this opinion, lie adduces the 
frequency and splendor of ancient festivals and merry- 
makings, and the hearty spirit with which they were kept 
up by all classes of people. His memory is stored with the 
accounts given by Stow, in his Survey of London, of the 
holiday revels at the inns of court, the Christmas mum- 
meries, and the masquings and bonfires about the streets. 
London, he says, in those days, resembled the conti- 
nental cities in its picturesque manners and amusements. 
The court used to dance after dinner on public occasions. 
After the coronation-dinner of Richard IL, for example, 
the king, the prelates, the nobles, the knights, and the 
rest of the company danced in "Westminster Hall to the 
music of the minstrels. The example of the court was 
followed by the middling classes, and so down to the low- 
est, and the whole nation was a dancing, jovial nation. 
He quotes a lively city picture of the times, given by 
Stow, which resembles the lively scenes one may often 
see in the gay city of Paris ; for he tells us that on holi- 
days, after evening prayers, the maidens in London used 
to assemble before the door, in sight of their mas- 
ters and dames, and while one played on a timbrel, 
the others danced for garlands, hanged athwart the 
street. 

"Where will we meet with such merry groups now- 
adays?" the Squire will exclaim, shaking his head 
mournfully ;— " and then as to the gayety that prevailed 
in dress throughout all ranks of society ; and made the 



304 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

very streets so fine and picturesque. *I liave myself,' 
says Gervaise Markliam, ' met an ordinary tapster in his 
silk stockings, garters deep fringed with gold lace, the 
rest of his apparel suitable, with cloak lined with velvet ! ' 
Nashe, too, who wrote in 1593, exclaims at the finery of 
the nation, ' England, the player's stage of gorgeous at- 
tire, the ape of all nations' superfluities, the continual 
masquer in outlandish habiliments.' " 

Such are a few of the authorities quoted by the Squire 
by way of contrasting what he supposes to have been the 
former vivacity of the nation with its present monotonous 
character. " John Bull," he will say, " was then a gay 
cavalier, with a sword by his side and a feather in his 
cap ; but he is now a plodding citizen, in snuff-colored 
coat and gaiters." 

By the by, there really appears to have been some 
change in the national character since the days of which 
the Squire is so fond of talking ; those days when this lit- 
tle island acquired its favorite old title of "merry Eng- 
land." This may be attributed in part to the growing 
hardships of the times, and the necessity of turning the 
whole attention to the means of subsistence ; but Eng- 
land's gayest customs prevailed at times when her com- 
mon people enjoyed comparatively few of the comforts 
and conveniences which they do at present. It may be 
still more attributed to the universal spirit of gain, and 
the calculating habits which commerce has introduced ; 
but I am inclined to attribute it chiefly to the gradual in- 



ENGLISH GRAVITY. 305 

crease of the liberty of tlie subject, and the growing free- 
dom and activity of opinion. 

A free people are apt to be grave and thoughtful. 
They have high and important matters to occupy their 
minds. They feel it their right, their interest, and their 
duty to mingle in public concerns, and to watch over the 
general welfare. The continual exercise of the mind on 
political topics gives intenser habits of thinking, and a 
more serious and earnest demeanor. A nation becomes 
less gay, but more intellectually active and vigorous. It 
evinces less play of the fancy, but more power of the im- 
agination ; less taste and elegance, but more grandeur of 
mind ; less animated vivacity, but deeper enthusiasm. 

It is when men are shut out of the regions of manly 
thought by a despotic government ; when every grave 
and lofty theme is rendered perilous to discussion and 
almost to reflection ; it is then that they turn to the safer 
occupations of taste and amusement ; trifles rise to im- 
portance, and occupy the craving activity of intellect. 
No being is more void of care and reflection than the 
slave ; none dances more gayly in his intervals of labor : 
but make him free, give him rights and interests to 
guard, and he becomes thoughtful and laborious. 

The French are a gayer people than the English. 
Why? Partly from temperament, perhaps ; but greatly 
because they have been accustomed to governments 
which surrounded the free exercise of thought with dan- 
ger, and where he only was safe who shut his eyes and 
30 



306 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

ears to public events, and enjoyed tlie passing pleasure 
of the day. Within late years they have had more op- 
portunity of exercising their minds ; and within late years 
the national character has essentially changed. Never 
did the French enjoy such a degree of freedom as they 
do at this moment, and at this moment the French are 
comparatively a grave people. 




GYPSIES. 

What's that to absolute freedom ; such as the veiy beggars have ; to feast 
and revel here to-day, and yonder to-morrow ; next day where they please ; 
and so on still, the whole country or kingdom over ? There's liberty ! the 
birds of the air can take no more.— Jovial Ckew. 

INCE tlie meeting with the gypsies, which I 
have related in a former paper, I have observed 
several of them haunting the purlieus of the 
Hall, notwithstanding a positive interdiction of the 
Squire. They are part of a gang which has long kept 
about this neighborhood to the great annoyance of the 
farmers, whose poultry-yards often suffer from their noc- 
turnal invasions. They are, however, in some measure, 
patronized by the Squire, who considers the race as be- 
longing to the good old times ; which, to confess the pri- 
vate truth, seem to have abounded with good-for-nothing 
characters. 

This roving crew is called "Star-light Tom's Gang," 
from the name of its chieftain, a notorious poacher. I 
have heard repeatedly of the misdeeds of this " minion 
of the moon ; " for every midnight depredation in park, 
or fold, or farm-yard, is laid to his charge. Star-light 

Tom, in fact, answers to his name ; he seems to walk in 

307 



308 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

darkness, and, like a fox, to be traced in the morning by 
the mischief he has done. He reminds me of that fear- 
ful personage in the nursery rhyme : 

" Who goes round the house at night ? 
None but bloody Tom ! 
Who steals ail the slieep at night? 
None but one by one ! " 

In short, Star-light Tom is the scape-goat of the neigh- 
borhood, but so cunning and adroit, that there is no de- 
tecting him. Old Christy and the gamekeeper have 
watched many a night in hopes of entrapping him ; and 
Christy often patrols the park with his dogs for the pur- 
pose, but all in vain. It is said that the Squire winks 
hard at his misdeeds, having an indulgent feeling towards 
the vagabond, because of his being very expert at all 
kinds of game, a great shot with the cross-bow, and the 
best morris-dancer in the country. 

The Squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmolested 
about the skirts of his estate, on condition they do not 
come about the house. The approaching wedding, how- 
ever, has made a kind of Saturnalia at the Hall, and has 
caused a suspension of all sober rule. It has produced 
a great sensation throughout the female part of the 
household; not a housemaid but dreams of wedding- 
favors, and has a husband running in her head. Such a 
time is a harvest for the gypsies : there is a public foot- 
path leading across one part of the park, by which they 



GYPSIES. 309 

have free ingress; and they are continually hovering 
about the grounds, telling the servant-girls' fortunes, or 
getting smuggled in to the young ladies. 

I believe the Oxonian amuses himself very much by 
furnishing them with hints in private, and bewildering 
all the weak brains in the house with their wonderful 
revelations. The general certainly was very much aston- 
ished by the communications made to him the other 
evening by the gypsy girl: he kept a wary silence 
towards us on the subject, and affected to treat it lightly ; 
but I have noticed that he has since redoubled his atten- 
tions to Lady Lillycraft and her dogs. 

I have seen also Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's 
pretty and lovesick niece, holding a long conference with 
one of these old sibyls behind a large tree in the avenue, 
and often looking round to see that she was not ob- 
served. I make no doubt she was endeavoring to get 
some favorable augury about the result of her love- 
quarrel with young Keady-Money, as oracles have always 
been more consulted on love-affairs than upon anything 
else. I fear, however, that in this instance the response 
was not so favorable as usual, for I perceived poor 
Phoebe returning pensively towards the house, her head 
hanging down, her hat in her hand, and the ribbon trail- 
ing along the ground. 

At another time, as I turned a corner of a terrace, at 
the bottom of the garden, just by a clump of trees, and a 
large stone urn, I came upon a bevy of the young girls 



310 BRACEBBIDGE HALL. 

of the family, attended by this same Phoebe Wilkins. I 
was at a loss to comprehend the meaning of their blush- 
ing and giggling, and their apparent agitation, until I saw 
the red cloak of a gypsy vanishing among the shrubbery. 
A few moments after I caught a sight of Master Simon 
and the Oxonian stealing along one of the walks of the 
garden, chuckling and laughing at their successful wag- 
gery; having evidently put the gypsy up to the thing, 
and instructed her what to say. 

After all, there is something strangely pleasing in 
these tamperings with the future, even where we are 
convinced of the fallacy of the prediction. It is singular 
how willingly the mind will half deceive itself ; and with 
a degree of awe we will listen even to these babblers 
about futurity. For my part, I cannot feel angry with 
these poor vagabonds, that seek to deceive us into bright 
hopes and expectations. I have always been something 
of a castle-builder, and have found my liveliest pleas- 
ure to arise from the illusions which fancy has cast 
over commonplace realities. As I get on in life, I find 
it more difl&cult to deceive myself in this delightful man- 
ner ; and I should be thankful to any prophet, however 
false, who would conjure the clouds which hang over 
futurity into palaces, and all its doubtful regions into 
fairy-land. 

The Squire, who, as I have observed, has a private 
good-will towards gypsies, has suffered considerable an- 
noyance on their account. Not that they requite his in- 



GYPSIES. 311 

dulgence with ingratitude, for they do not depredate 
very flagrantly on his estate ; but because their pilferings 
and misdeeds occasion loud murmurs in the village. I 
can readily understand the old gentleman's humor on 
this point; I have a great toleration for all kinds of 
vagrant, sunshiny existence, and must confess I take a 
pleasure in observing the ways of gypsies. The English, 
who are accustomed to them from childhood, and often 
suffer from their petty depredations, consider them as 
mere nuisances ; but I have been very much struck with 
their peculiarities. I like to behold their clear olive 
complexions ; their romantic black eyes ; their raven 
locks ; their lithe slender figures ; and to hear them, in 
low silver tones, dealing forth magnificent promises of 
honors and estates, of world's wealth, and ladies' love. 

Their mode of life, too, has something in it very fanci- 
ful and picturesque. They are the free denizens of na- 
ture, and maintain a primitive independence, in spite of 
law and gospel, of county jails and country magistrates. 
It is curious to see this obstinate adherence to the wild 
unsettled habits of savage life transmitted from genera- 
tion to generation, and preserved in the midst of one of 
the most cultivated, populous, and systematic countries 
in the world. They are totally distinct from the busy, 
thrifty people about them. They seem to be, like the 
Indians of America, either above or below the ordinary 
cares and anxieties of mankind. Heedless of power, of 
honors, of wealth, and indifferent to the fluctuations of 



312 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL, 

times, tlie rise or fall of grain, or stock, or empires, they 
seem to laugh at the toiling, fretting world around them, 
and to live according to the philosophy of the old song : 

"Who would ambition shun, 
And loves to lie i' the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats, 
And pleased with what he gets. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither. 
Here shall he see 
No enemy. 
But winter and rough weather." 

In this way they wander from county to county, 
keeping about the purlieus of villages, or in plenteous 
neighborhoods, where there are fat farms and rich coun- 
try-seats. Their encampments are generally made in 
some beautiful spot : either a green shady nook of a 
road; or on the border of a common, under a sheltering 
hedge ; or on the skirts of a fine spreading wood. They 
are always to be found lurking about fairs, and races, and 
rustic gatherings, wherever there is pleasure, and throng, 
and idleness. They are the oracles of milkmaids and 
simple serving-girls ; and sometimes have even the honor 
of perusing the white hands of gentlemen's daughters, 
when rambling about their fathers' grounds. They are 
the bane of good housewives and thrifty farmers, and 
odious in the eyes of country justices ; but, like all other 
vagabond beings, they have something to commend them 



GYP8IE8. 313 

to tlie fancy. They are among tlie last traces, in these 
matter-of-fact days, of the motley population of former 
times ; and are whimsically associated in my mind with 
fairies and witches, Eobin Good Fellow, Eobin Hood, and 
the other fantastical personages of poetry. 



MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. 

Happy the age, and harmless were the dayes, 

(For then true love and amity was found,) 
When every village did a May-pole raise, 

And Whitson ales and May games did abound. 
And all the lusty yonkers in a rout. 
With merry lasses daunc'd the rod about, 
Then fi-iendship to their banquets bid the guests, 
And poore men far'd the better for their feasts. 

Pasquil's Palinodia. 



HE month of April lias nearly passed away, and 
we are fast approaching that poetical day, 
which was considered, in old times, as the 
boundary that parted the frontiers of winter and summer. 
"With all its caprices, however, I like the month of April. 
I like these laughing and crying days, when sun and 
shade seem to run in billows over the landscape. I like 
to see the sudden shower coursing over the meadow, and 
giving all nature a greener smile ; and the bright sun- 
beams chasing the flying cloud, and turning all its drops 
into diamonds. 

I was enjoying a morning of the kind in company with 
the Squire in one of the finest parts of the park. We 
were skirting a beautiful grove, and he was giving me a 

314 



MAY-BAY CUSTOMS. 315 

kind of biographical account of several of his favorite 
forest-trees, when he heard the strokes of an axe from the 
midst of a thick copse. The Squire paused and listened, 
with manifest signs of uneasiness. He turned his steps 
in the direction of the sound. The strokes grew louder 
and louder as we advanced ; there was evidently a vigor- 
ous arm wielding the axe. The Squire quickened his 
pace, but in vain ; a loud crack and a succeeding crash 
told that the mischief had been done, and some child of 
the forest laid low. When we came to the place, we 
found Master Simon and several others standing about a 
tall and beautifully straight young tree, which had just 
been felled. 

The Squire, though a man of most harmonious disposi- 
tions, was completely put out of tune by this circum- 
stance. He felt like a monarch witnessing the murder of 
one of his liege subjects, and demanded, with some as- 
perity, the meaning of the outrage. It turned out to be 
an affair of Master Simon's, who had selected the tree, 
from its height and straightness, for a May-pole, the old 
one which stood on the village green being unfit for far- 
ther service. If anything could have soothed the ire of 
my worthy host, it would have been the reflection that his 
tree had fallen in so good a cause ; and I saw that there 
was a great struggle between his fondness for his groves 
and his devotion to May-day. He could not contemplate 
the prostrate tree, however, without indulging in lamen- 
tation, and making a kind of funeral eulogy, like Marc 



316 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

Antony over tlie body of Caesar ; and lie forbade tbat any 
tree sliould thenceforward be cut down on his estate 
without a warrant from himself; being determined, he 
said, to hold the sovereign power of life and death in his 
own hands. 

This mention of the May-pole struck my attention, and 
I inquired whether the old customs connected with it 
were really kept up in this part of the country. The 
Squire shook his head mournfully ; and I found I had 
touched on one of his tender points, for he grew quite 
melancholy in bewailing the total decline of old May- 
day. Though it is regularly celebrated in the neighbor- 
ing village, yet it has been merely resuscitated by the 
worthy Squire, and is kept up in a forced state of exist- 
ence at his expense. He meets with continual discour- 
agements ; and finds great difficulty in getting the coun- 
try bumpkins to play their parts tolerably. He manages 
to have every year a " Queen of the May " ; but as to 
Eobin Hood, Friar Tuck, the Dragon, the Hobby Horse, 
and all the other motley crew that used to enliven the 
day with their mummery, he has not ventured to intro- 
duce them. 

Still I look forward with some interest to the promised 
shadow of old May-day, even though it be but a shadow ; 
and I feel more and more pleased with the whimsical yet 
harmless hobby of my host, which is surrounding him 
with agreeable associations, and making a little world of 
poetry about him. Brought up, as I have been, in a new 



MAT-BAT CUSTOMS. 317 

country, I may appreciate too highly the faint vestiges of 
ancient customs which I now and then meet with, and 
the interest I express in them may provoke a smile from 
those who are negligently suJBfering them to pass away. 
But with whatever indifference they may be regarded by 
those " to the manner born," yet in my mind the linger- 
ing flavor of them imparts a charm to rustic life, which 
nothing else could readily supply. 

I shall never forget the delight I felt on first seeing a 
May-pole. It was on the banks of the Dee, close by the 
picturesque old bridge that stretches across the river, 
from the quaint little city of Chester. I had already 
been carried back into former days by the antiquities of 
that venerable place ; the examination of which is equal 
to turning over the pages of a black-letter volume, or 
gazing on the pictures in Froissart. The May-pole on 
the margin of that poetic stream completed the illusion. 
My fancy adorned it with wreaths of flowers, and peo- 
pled the green bank with all the dancing revelry of May- 
day. The mere sight of this May-pole gave a glow to my 
feelings, and spread a charm over the country for the 
rest of the day; and as I traversed a part of the fair 
plain of Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of Wales, 
and looked from among swelling hills, down a long green 
valley, through which "the Deva wound its wizard 
stream," my imagination turned all into a perfect 
Arcadia. 

Whether it be owing to such poetical associations 



318 BEACEBBIDGE HALL. 

early instilled into my mind, or whether there is a sym- 
pathetic revival and budding forth of the feelings at this 
season, certain it is, that I always experience, wherever 
I may be placed, a delightful expansion of the heart at 
the return of May. It is said that birds about this time 
will become restless in their cages, as if instinct with the 
season, conscious of the revelry going on in the groves, 
and impatient to break from their bondage and join in 
the jubilee of the year. In like manner I have felt my- 
self excited, even in the midst of the metropolis, when 
the windows, which had been churlishly closed all win- 
ter, were again thrown open to receive the balmy breath 
of May ; when the sweets of the country were breathed 
into the town, and flowers were cried about the streets. 
I have considered the treasures of flowers thus poured 
in, as so many missives from nature inviting us forth to 
enjoy the virgin beauty of the year, before its freshness 
is exhaled by the heats of sunny summer. 

One can readily imagine what a gay scene it must have 
been in jolly old London, when the doors were decorated 
with flowering branches, when every hat was decked with 
hawthorn, and Kobin Hood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, 
the morris-dancers, and all the other fantastic masks and 
revellers, were performing their antics about the May- 
pole in every part of the city. 

I am not a bigoted admirer of old times and old cus- 
toms merely because of their antiquity ; but while I re- 
joice in the decline of many of the rude usages and coarse 



MAT-DAY CUSTOMS. 319 

amusements of former days, I regret that this innocent 
and fanciful festival has fallen into disuse. It seemed 
appropriate to this verdant and pastoral country, and 
calculated to light up the too pervading gravity of the 
nation. I value every custom which tends to infuse 
poetical feeling into the common people, and to sweeten 
and soften the rudeness of rustic manners, without de- 
stroying their simplicity. Indeed, it is to the decline of 
this happy simplicity that the decline of this custom may 
be traced, and the rural dance on the green, and the 
homely May-day pageant, have gradually disappeared, in 
proportion as the peasantry have become expensive and 
artificial in their pleasures, and too knowing for simple 
enjoyment. 

Some attempts, the Squire informs me, have been 
made of late years, by men of both taste and learning, to 
rally back the popular feeling to these standards of 
primitive simplicity ; but the time has gone by, the feel- 
ing has become chilled by habits of gain and traffic ; the 
country apes the manners and amusements of the town, 
and little is heard of May-day at present, except from the 
lamentations of authors, who sigh after it from among 
the brick walls of the city : 

" For 0, for 0, the Hobby Horse is forgot." 




VILLAGE WOETHIES. 

Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not the worst dog 
in the street will hurt my little finger. 

COLLIEK OF CkOTDON. 

S the neighboring village is one of those out-of- 
the-way, but gossiping little places where a 
small matter makes a great stir, it is not to be 
supposed that the approach of a festival like that of May- 
day can be regarded with indifference, especially since it 
is made a matter of such moment by the great folks at 
the Hall. Master Simon, who is the faithful factotum of 
the worthy Squire, and jumps with his humor in every- 
thing, is frequent just now in his visits to the village, to 
give directions for the impending fete ; and as I have 
taken the liberty occasionally of accompanying him, I 
have been enabled to get some insight into the charac- 
ters and internal politics of this very sagacious little 
community. 

Master Simon is in fact the Caesar of the village. It is 
true the Squire is the protecting power, but his factotum 
is the active, and busy agent. He intermeddles in all its 

concerns; is acquainted with all the inhabitants and 

330 



VILLAGE W0BTHIE8. 321 

their domestic history ; gives counsel to the old folks in 
their business matters, and the young folks in their love- 
affairs ; and enjoys the proud satisfaction of being a great 
man in a little world. 

He is the dispenser, too, of the Squire's charity, which 
is bounteous ; and, to do Master Simon justice, he per- 
forms this part of his functions with great alacrity. In- 
deed, I have been entertained with the mixture of bustle, 
importance, and kind-heartedness which he displays. He 
is of too vivacious a temperament to comfort the afflicted 
by sitting down moping and whining and blowing noses 
in concert ; but goes whisking about like a sparrow, 
chirping consolation into every hole and corner of the 
village. I have seen an old woman, in a red cloak, hold 
him for half an hour together with some long phthisical 
tale of distress, which Master Simon listened to with 
many a bob of the head, smack of his dog-whip, and 
other symptoms of impatience, though he afterwards 
made a most faithful and circumstantial report of the 
case to the Squire. I have watched him, too, during one 
of his pop visits into the cottage of a superannuated vil- 
lager, who is a pensioner of the Squire, where he fidgeted 
about the room without sitting down, made many excel- 
lent off-hand reflections with the old invalid, who was 
propped up in his chair, about the shortness of life, the 
certainty of death, and the necessity of preparing for 
" that awful change ; " quoted several texts of Scripture 
very incorrectly, but much to the edification of the cot- 
31 



322 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

tager's wife ; and on coming out, pinclied tlie daugh- 
ter's rosy clieek, and wondered wliat was in tlie young 
men that such a pretty face did not get a husband. 

He has also his cabinet counsellors in the village, with 
whom he is very busy just now, preparing for the May- 
day ceremonies. Among these is the village tailor, a 
pale-faced fellow, who plays the clarionet in the church- 
choir ; and, being a great musical genius, has frequent 
meetings of the band at his house, where they " make 
night hideous " by their concerts. He is, in consequence, 
high in favor with Master Simon ; and, through his in- 
fluence, has the making, or rather marring, of all the liv- 
eries of the Hall ; which generally look as though they 
had been cut out by one of those scientific tailors of 
the Flying Island of Laputa, who took measure of their 
customers with a quadrant. The tailor, in fact, might 
rise to be one of the moneyed men of the village, was he 
not rather too prone to gossip, and keep holidays, and 
give concerts, and blow all his substance, real and per- 
sonal, through his clarionet ; which literally keeps him 
poor both in body and estate. He has for the present 
thrown by all his regular work, and suffered the breeches 
of the village to go unmade and unmended, while he is 
occupied in making garlands of party-colored rags, in 
imitation of flowers, for the decoration of the May-pole. 

Another of Master Simon's counsellors is the apothe- 
cary, a short and rather fat man, with a pair of prominent 
eyes, that diverge like those of a lobster. He is the 



VILLAGE W0BTHIE8. 323 

village wise man ; very sententious, and full of profound 
remarks on shallow subjects. Master Simon often quotes 
his sayings, and mentions him as rather an extraordinary 
man; and even consults him occasionally in desperate 
cases of the dogs and horses. Indeed, he seems to have 
been overwhelmed by the apothecary's philosophy, 
which is exactly one observation deep, consisting of in- 
disputable maxims such as may be gathered from the 
mottoes of tobacco-boxes. I had a specimen of his 
philosophy in my very first conversation with him; in 
the course of which he observed, with great solemnity 
and emphasis, that " man is a compound of wisdom and 
folly " ; upon which Master Simon, who had hold of my 
arm, pressed very hard upon it, and whispered in my 
ear, " That's a devilish shrewd remark," 




THE SCHOOLMASTEE. 

There will no mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no grasse hang on the 
heeles of Mercury, no butter cleave on the bread of a traveller. For as the 
eagle at every flight loseth a feather, which maketh her bauld in her age, so 
the traveller in every country loseth some fleece, which maketh him a beg- 
gar in his youth, by buying that for a pound which he cannot sell again for a 
penny — repentance. — Lilly's Euphues. 

jMONG the wortliies of tlie village, that enjoy 
the peculiar confidence of Master Simon, is 
one who has struck my fancy so much that I 
have thought him worthy of a separate notice. It is 
Slingsby, the schoolmaster, a thin elderly man, rather 
threadbare and slovenly, somewhat indolent in manner, 
and with an easy, good-humored look, not often met with 
in his craft. I have been interested in his favor by a few 
anecdotes which I have picked up concerning him. 

He is a native of the village, and was a contemporary 
and playmate of Ready-Money Jack in the days of their 
boyhood. Indeed, they carried on a kind of league of 
mutual good offices. Slingsby was rather puny, and 
withal somewhat of a coward, but very apt at his learn- 
ing : Jack, on the contrary, was a bully-boy out of doors, 

334 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 325 

but a sad laggard at liis books. Slingsby helped Jack, 
therefore, to all his lessons ; Jack fought all Slingsby's 
battles ; and they were inseparable friends. This mutual 
kindness continued even after they left the school, not- 
withstanding the dissimilarity of their characters. Jack 
took to ploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to 
till his paternal acres; while the other loitered negli- 
gently on in the path of learning, until he penetrated 
even into the confines of Latin and Mathematics. 

In an unlucky hour, however, he took to reading voy- 
ages and travels, and was smitten with a desire to see 
the world. This desire increased upon him as he grew 
up ; so, early one bright sunny morning, he put all his 
effects in a knapsack, slung it on his back, took staff in 
hand, and called in his way to take leave of his early 
schoolmate. Jack was just going out with the plough : 
the friends shook hands over the farm-house-gate ; Jack 
drove his team a-field, and Slingsby whistled " Over the 
hills and far away," and sallied forth gayly to " seek his 
fortune." 

Years and years passed away, and young Tom Slings- 
by was forgotten ; when, one mellow Sunday afternoon in 
autumn, a thin man, somewhat advanced in life, with a 
coat out at elbows, a pair of old nankeen gaiters, and a 
few things tied in a handkerchief, and slung on the end 
of a stick, was seen loitering through the village. He ap- 
peared to regard several houses attentively, to peer into 
the windows that were open, to eye the villagers wistfully 



326 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

as they returned from diurcli, and tlien to pass some 
time in tlie clmrcli-yard, reading the tombstones. 

At length he found his way to the farm-house of 
Eeady-Money Jack, but paused ere he attempted the 
wicket; contemplating the picture of substantial inde- 
pendence before him. In the porch of the house sat 
Keady-Money Jack, in his Sunday dress ; with his hat 
upon his head, his pipe in his mouth, and his tankard 
before him, the monarch of all he surveyed. Beside him 
lay his fat house-dog. The varied sounds of poultry 
were heard from the well stocked farm-yard ; the bees 
hummed from their hives in the garden ; the cattle lowed 
in the rich meadow ; while the crammed barns and ample 
stacks bore proof of an abundant harvest. 

The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubiously 
toward the house. The mastiff growled at the sight of 
the suspicious-looking intruder, but was immediately 
silenced by his master, who, taking his pipe from his 
mouth, awaited with inquiring aspect the address of this 
equivocal personage. The stranger eyed old Jack for a 
moment, so portly in his dimensions, and decked out in 
gorgeous apparel; then cast a glance upon his own 
threadbare and starveling condition, and the scanty bun- 
dle which he held in his hand ; then giving his shrunk 
waistcoat a twitch to make it meet its receding waist- 
band, and casting another look, half sad, half humorous, 
at the sturdy yeoman, " I suppose," said he, " Mr. Tib- 
bets, you have forgot old times and old playmates." 



TEE 8GE00LMA8TEB. 327 

The latter gazed at tim with scrutinizing look, but 
acknowledged that he had no recollection of him. 

"Like enough, like enough," said the stranger; "ev- 
erybody seems to have forgotten poor Slingsby ! " 

« Why no, sure! it can't be Tom Slingsby ! " 

"Yes, but it is though ! " replied the stranger, shaking 

his head. 

Keady-Money Jack was on his feet in a twinkling, 
thrust out his hand, gave his ancient crony the gripe of a 
giant, and slapping the other hand on a bench, "Sit 
down there," cried he, " Tom Slingsby ! " 

A long conversation ensued about old times, while 
Slingsby was regaled with the best cheer that the farm- 
house afforded ; for he was hungry as well as way-worn, 
and had the keen appetite of a poor pedestrian. The 
early playmates then talked over their subsequent lives 
and adventures. Jack had but little to relate, and was 
never good at a long story. A prosperous life, passed at 
home, has little incident for narrative ; it is only poor 
devils, that are tossed about the world, that are the true 
heroes of story. Jack had stuck by the paternal farm, 
followed the same plough that his forefathers had driven, 
and had waxed richer and richer as he grew older. As 
to Tom Slingsby, he was an exemplification of the old 
proverb, "a rolling stone gathers no moss." He had 
sought his fortune about the world, without ever finding 
it ; being a thing oftener found at home than abroad. He 
had been in all kinds of situations, and had learnt a 



328 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

dozen different modes of making a living ; but liad found 
his way back to his native village rather poorer than 
when he left it, his knapsack having dwindled down to a 
scanty bundle. 

As luck would havei it, the Squire was passing by the 
farm-house that very evening, and called there, as is often 
his custom. He found the two schoolmates still gossip- 
ing in the porch, and, according to the good old Scottish 
song, "taking a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang 
syne." The squire was struck by the contrast in appear- 
ance and fortunes of these early playmates. Beady- 
Money Jack, seated in lordly state, surrounded by the 
good things of this life, with golden guineas hanging to 
his very watch-chain ; and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, 
thin as a weasel, with all his worldly effects, his bundle, 
hat, and walking-staff, lying on the ground beside him. 

The good Squire's heart warmed towards the luckless 
cosmopolite, for he is a little prone to like such half- 
vagrant characters. He cast about, in his mind how he 
should contrive once more to anchor Slingsby in his na- 
tive village. Honest Jack had already offered him a pres- 
ent shelter under his roof, in spite of the hints and 
winks, and half remonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tib- 
bets ; but how to provide for his permanent maintenance, 
was the question. Luckily, the Squire bethought himself 
that the village school was without a teacher. A little 
further conversation convinced him that Slingsby was 
as fit for that as for anything else, and in a day or two he 



THE SCHOOLMASTER. 329 

was seen swaying tlie rod of empire in tlie very scliool- 
house where lie had often been horsed in the days of his 
boyhood. 

Here he has remained for several years, and, being 
honored by the countenance of the Squire, and the fast 
friendship of Mr. Tibbets, he has grown into much im- 
portance and consideration in the village. I am told, 
however, that he still shows, now and then, a degree of 
restlessness, and a disposition to rove abroad again, and 
see a little more of the world, — an inclination which 
seems particularly to haunt him about spring-time. 
There is nothing so difficult to conquer as the vagrant 
humor, when once it has been fully indulged. 

Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor Slingsby, I 
have more than once mused upon the picture presented 
by him and his schoolmate Keady-Money Jack, on their 
coming together again after so long a separation. It is 
difficult to determine between lots in life, where each is 
attended with its peculiar discontents. He who never 
leaves his home, repines at his monotonous existence, 
and envies the traveller, whose life is a constant tissue of 
wonder and adventure ; while he who is tossed about the 
world looks back with many a sigh to the safe and quiet 
shore which he has abandoned. I cannot help thinking, 
however, that the man who stays at home, and cultivates 
the comforts and pleasures daily springing up around 
him, stands the best chance for happiness. There is 
nothing so fascinating to a young mind as the idea of 



330 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

travelling ; and there is very witchcraft in the old phrase 
found in every nursery tale, of " going to seek one's for- 
tune." A continual change of place, and change of object, 
promises a continual succession of adventure and gratifi- 
cation of curiosity. But there is a limit to all our enjoy- 
ments, and every desire bears its death in its very grati- 
fication. Curiosity languishes under repeated stimulants ; 
novelties cease to excite surprise ; until at length we can- 
not wonder even at a miracle. 

He who has sallied forth into the world, like poor 
Slingsby, full of sunny anticipations, finds too soon how 
different the distant scene becomes when visited. The 
smooth place roughens as he approaches ; the wild place 
becomes tame and barren ; the fairy tints which beguiled 
him on, still fly to the distant hill, or gather upon the 
land he has left behind ; and every part of the landscape 
seems greener than the spot he stands on. 



THE SCHOOL. 

But to come down from great men and higher matters to my little children 
and poor schoolhouse again ; I will, God willing, go forward orderly, as I pur- 
posed, to instruct poor children and young men both for learning and man- 
ners. — KOGKR ASCHAM. 

AVING given tlie reader a slight sketcli of the 
village schoolmaster, he may be curious to 
learn something concerning his school. As the 
Squire takes much interest in the education of the neigh- 
boring children, he put into the hands of the teacher, on 
first installing him in office, a copy of Eoger Ascham's 
Schoolmaster, and advised him, moreover, to con over 
that portion of old Peachem which treats of the duty of 
masters, and which condemns the favorite method of 
making boys wise by flagellation. 

He exhorted Slingsby not to break down or depress 
the free spirit of the boys, by harshness and slavish fear, 
but to lead them freely and joyously on in the path of 
knowledge, making it pleasant and desirable in their 
eyes. He wished to see the youth trained up in the 
manners and habitudes of the peasantry of the good 

331 



332 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

old times, and thus to lay a foundation for tlie accom- 
plisliment of liis favorite object, the revival of old English 
customs and character. He recommended that all the 
ancient holidays should be observed, and the sports of 
the boys, in their hours of play, regulated according to 
the standard authorities laid down in Strutt ; a copy of 
whose invaluable work, decorated with plates, was de- 
posited in the school-house. Above all, he exhorted the 
pedagogue to abstain from the use of birch : an instru- 
ment of instruction which the good Squire regards as fit 
only for the coercion of brute natures, that cannot be 
reasoned with. 

Mr. Slingsby has followed the Squire's instruction to 
the best of his disposition and ability. He never flogs 
the boys, because he is too easy, good-humored a crea- 
ture to inflict pain on a worm. He is bountiful in holi- 
days, because he loves holidays himself, and has a sym- 
pathy with the urchins' impatience of confinement, from 
having divers times experienced its irksomeness during 
the time that he was seeing the world. As to sports and 
pastimes, the boys are faithfully exercised in all that are 
on record : quoits, races, prison-bars, tip-cat, trap-ball, 
bandy-ball, wrestling, leaping, and what not. The only 
misfortune is, that, having banished the birch, honest 
Slingsby has not studied Koger Ascham sufficiently to 
find out a substitute, or, rather, he has not the manage- 
ment in his nature to apply one ; his school, therefore, 
though one of the happiest, is one of the most unruly in 



THE SCHOOL. 333 

the country ; and never was a pedagogue more liked, or 
less heeded, by his disciples than Slingsby. 

He has lately taken a coadjutor worthy of himself; 
being another stray sheep returned to the village fold. 
This is no other than the son of the musical tailor, who 
had bestowed some cost upon his education, hoping one 
day to see him arrive at the dignity of an exciseman, or 
at least of a parish clerk. The lad grew up, however, as 
idle and musical as his father ; and, being captivated by 
the drum and fife of a recruiting party, followed them off 
to the army. He returned not long since, out of money, 
and out at elbows, the prodigal son of the village. He 
remained for some time lounging about the j)lace in half- 
tattered soldier's dress, with a foraging cap on one side 
of his head, jerking stones across the brook, or loitering 
about the tavern-door, a burden to his father, and re- 
garded with great coldness by all warm householders. 

Something, however, drew honest Slingsby towards the 
youth. It might be the kindness he bore to his father, 
who is one of the schoolmaster's great cronies ; it might 
be that secret sympathy which draws men of vagrant 
propensities towards each other ; for there is something 
truly magnetic in the vagabond feeling ; or it might be 
that he remembered the time when he himself had come 
back like this youngster, a wreck to his native place. 
At any rate, whatever the motive, Slingsby drew towards 
the youth. They had many conversations in the village 
tap-room about foreign parts, and the various scenes and 



334 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

places they had witnessed during their wayfaring about 
the world. The more Slingsby talked with him, the 
more he found him to his taste ; and finding him almost 
as learned as himself, he forthwith engaged him as an 
assistant, or usher, in the school. 

Under such admirable tuition, the school, as may be 
supposed, flourishes apace ; and if the scholars do not 
become versed in all the holiday accomplishments of the 
good old times, to the Squire's heart's content, it will not 
be the fault of their teachers. The prodigal son has be- 
come almost as popular among the boys as the peda- 
gogue himself. His instructions are not limited to 
school-hours ; and having inherited the musical taste 
and talents of his father, he has bitten the whole school 
with the mania. He is a great hand at beating a drum, 
which is often heard rumbling from the rear of the 
school-house. He is teaching half the boys of the vil- 
lage, also, to play the fife, and the pandean pipes ; and 
they weary the whole neighborhood with their vague 
pipings, as they sit perched on stiles, or loitering about 
the barn-doors in the evenings. Among the other exer- 
cises of the school, also, he has introduced the ancient 
art of archery, one of the Squire's favorite themes, with 
such success, that the whipsters roam in truant bands 
about the neighborhood, practising with their bows and 
arrows upon the birds of the air, and the beasts of the 
field; and not unfrequently making a foray into the 
Squire's domains, to the great indignation of the game- 



THE SCHOOL. 335 

keepers. In a word, so completely are the ancient Eng- 
lisli customs and habits cultivated at this school, that I 
should not be surprised if the Squire should live to see 
one of his poetic visions realized, and a brood reared up 
worthy successors to Eobin Hood, and his merry gang of 
outlaws. 




A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 

I am a rogue if I do not think I was designed for the helm of state ; I am so 
full of nimble stratagems, that I should have ordered affairs, and carried it 
against the stream of a faction, with as much ease as a skipper would laver 
against the wind. —The Goblins. 

N one of my visits to tlie village witli Master 
Simon, lie proposed that we sliould stop at the 
inn, which he wished to show me, as a speci- 
men of a real country inn, the headquarters of village 
gossip. I had remarked it before, in my perambulations 
about the place. It has a deep old-fashioned porch, 
leading into a large hall, which serves for tap-room and 
travellers'-room ; having a wide fireplace, with high- 
backed settles on each side, where the wise men of the 
village gossip over their ale, and hold their sessions dur- 
ing the long winter evenings. The landlord is an easy, 
indolent fellow, shaped a little like one of his own beer- 
barrels, and is apt to stand gossiping at his own door, 
with his wig on one side, and his hands in his pockets, 
whilst his wife and daughter attend to customers. His 
wife, however, is fully competent to manage the estab- 
lishment ; and, indeed, from long habitude, rules over all 
the frequenters of the tap-room as completely as if they 

336 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 337 

were her dependants and not lier patrons. Not a veteran 
ale-bibber but pays homage to her, having, no doubt, 
often been in her arrears. I have already hinted that she 
is on very good terms with Beady-Money Jack. He was 
a sweetheart of hers in early life, and has always counte- 
nanced the tavern on her account. Indeed, he is quite 
a " cock of the walk " at the tap-room. 

As we approached the inn, we heard some one talking 
with great volubility, and distinguished the ominous 
words, " taxes," " poor's rates," and " agricultural dis- 
tress." It proved to be a thin, loquacious fellow, who 
had penned the landlord up in one corner of the porch, 
with his hands in his pockets, listening with an air of the 
most vacant acquiescence. 

The sight seemed to have a curious effect on Master 
Simon, as he squeezed my arm, and altering his course, 
sheered wide of the porch, as though he had not had any 
idea of entering. This evident evasion induced me to 
notice the orator more particularly. He was meagre, but 
active in his make, with a long, pale, bilious face ; a 
black beard, so ill-shaven as to leave marks of blood on 
his shirt-collar ; a feverish eye, and a hat sharpened up 
at the sides into a most pragmatical shape. He had a 
newspaper in his hand, and seemed to be commenting on 
its contents, to the thorough conviction of mine host. 

At sight of Master Simon the landlord was evidently a 
little flurried, and began to rub his hands, edge away 
from his corner, and make several profound publican 
23 



338 BEACEBBIDGE HALL. 

bows ; while the orator took no other notice of my com- 
panion than to talk rather louder than before, and with 
as I thought, something of an air of defiance. Master 
Simon, however, as I have before said, sheered off from 
the porch, and passed on, pressing my arm within his, 
and whispering as we got by, in a tone of awe and hor- 
ror, " That's a radical ! he reads Cobbett ! " 

I endeavored to get a more particular account of him 
from my companion, but he seemed unwilling even to talk 
about him, answering only in general terms, that he was 
" a cursed busy fellow, that had a confounded trick of 
talking, and was apt to bother one about the national 
debt, and such nonsense ; " from which I suspected that 
Master Simon had been rendered wary of him by some 
accidental encounter on the field of argument ; for these 
radicals are continually roving about in quest of wordy 
warfare, and never so happy as when they can tilt a gen- 
tleman logician out of his saddle. 

On subsequent inquiry my suspicions have been con- 
firmed. I find the radical has but recently found his way 
into the village, where he threatens to commit fearful de- 
vastations with his doctrines. He has already made two 
or three complete converts, or new lights ; has shaken 
the faith of several others ; and has grievously puzzled 
the brains of many of the oldest villagers, who had never 
thought about politics, nor scarce anything else, during 
their whole Jives. 

He is lean and meagre from the constant restlessness 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 339 

of mind and body ; worrying about with newspapers and 
pamplilets in his pockets, wbicli he is ready to pull out 
on all occasions. He has shocked several of the stanch- 
est villagers, by talking lightly of the Squire and his 
family; and hinting that it would be better the park 
should be cut up into small farms and kitchen-gardens, 
or feed good mutton instead of worthless deer. 

He is a great thorn in the sight of the Squire, who is 
sadly afraid that he will introduce politics into the vil- 
lage, and turn it into an unhappy, thinking community. 
He is a still greater grievance to Master Simon, who has 
hitherto been able to sway the political opinions of the 
place, without much cost of learning or logic; but has 
been much puzzled of late to weed out the doubts and 
heresies already sown by this champion of reform. In- 
deed, the latter has taken complete command at the tap- 
room of the tavern, not so much because he has con- 
vinced, as because he has out-talked all the old-establish- 
ed oracles. The apothecary, with all his philosophy, was 
as naught before him. He has convinced and converted 
the landlord at least a dozen times ; who, however, is liable 
to be convinced and converted the other way by the next 
person with whom he talks. It is true the radical has a 
violent antagonist in the landlady, who is vehemently 
loyal, and thoroughly devoted to the king, Master Simon, 
and the Squire. She now and then comes out upon the 
reformer with all the fierceness of a cat-o'-mountain, and 
does not spare her own soft-headed husband for listening 



340 BEACEBBIDGE HALL. 

to what slie terms such, "low-lived politics." What makes 
the good woman the more violent, is the perfect coolness 
with which the radical listens to her attacks, drawing his 
face up into a provoking, supercilious smile ; and when 
she has talked herself out of breath, quietly asking her 
for a taste of her home-brewed. 

The only person in any way a match for this redoubt- 
able politician is Keady-Money Jack Tibbets ; who main- 
tains his stand in the tap-room, in defiance of the radical 
and all his works. Jack is one of the most loyal men in 
the country, without being able to reason about the mat- 
ter. He has that admirable quality for a tough arguer, 
also, that he never knows when he is beat. He has half 
a dozen old maxims, which he advances on all occasions, 
and though his antagonist may overturn them ever so 
often, yet he always brings them anew to the field. He 
is like the robber in Ariosto, who, though his head might 
be cut off half a hundred times, yet whipped it on his 
shoulders again in a twinkling, and returned as sound a 
man as ever to the charge. 

Whatever does not square with Jack's simple and ob- 
vious creed, he sets down for " French politics " ; for, not- 
withstanding the peace, he cannot be persuaded that the 
French are not still laying plots to ruin the nation, and 
to get hold of the Bank of England. The radical at- 
tempted to overwhelm him one day by a long passage 
from a newspaper ; but Jack neither reads nor believes in 
newspapers. In reply, he gave him one of the stanzas 



A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 341 

which, he has by heart from his favorite, and indeed only 
author, old Tusser, and which he calls his Golden Eules : 

" Leave princes' affairs undescanted on, 
And tend to such doings as stand thee upon ; 
Fear God, and offend not the king nor his laws, 
And keep thyself out of the magistrate's claws." 

When Tibbets had pronounced this with great empha- 
sis, he pulled out a well-filled leathern purse, took out 
a handful of gold and silver, paid his score at the bar 
with great punctuality, returned his money, piece by 
piece, into his purse, his purse into his pocket, which 
he buttoned up ; and then, giving his cudgel a stout 
thump upon the floor, and bidding the radical "good 
morning, sir ! " with the tone of a man who conceives he 
has completely done for his antagonist, he walked with 
lionlike gravity out of the house. Two or three of Jack's 
admirers who were present, and had been afraid to take 
the field themselves, looked upon this as a perfect tri- 
umph, and winked at each other when the radical's back 
was turned. " Ay, ay ! " said mine host, as soon as the 
radical was out of hearing, " let old Jack alone ; I'll war- 
rant he'll give him his own ! " 




THE KOOKERY. 

But caAving rooks, and kites that swim sublime 
In still repeated circles ; screaming loud, 
The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl, 
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 

CoWPEB. 

N a grove of tall oaks and beeches, that crowns 
a terrace-walk, just on the skirts of the garden, 
is an ancient rookery ; which is one of the most 
important provinces in the Squire's rural domains. The 
old gentleman sets great store by his rooks, and will not 
suffer one of them to be killed ; in consequence of which 
they have increased amazingly : the tree-tops are loaded 
with their nests ; they have encroached upon the great 
avenue, and even established in times long past a colony 
among the elms and pines of the church-yard, which, 
like other distant colonies, has already thrown off alle- 
giance to the mother-country. 

The rooks are looked upon by the Squire as a very 
ancient and honorable line of gentry, highly aristocrati- 
cal in their notions, fond of place, and attached to church 
and state ; as their building so loftily, keeping about 

churches and cathedrals, and in the venerable groves of 

343 



TEE BOOKEEY. 343 

old castles and manor-liouses, sufficiently manifests. The 
good opinion thus expressed by the Squire put me upon 
observing more narrowly these very respectable birds ; 
for I confess, to my shame, I had been apt to confound 
them with their cousins-german the crows, to whom, at 
the first glance, they bear so great a family resemblance. 
Nothing, it seems, could be more unjust or injurious 
than such a mistake. The rooks and crows are, among 
the feathered tribes, what the Spaniards and Portuguese 
are among nations, — ^the least loving, in consequence of 
their neighborhood and similarity. The rooks are old- 
established housekeepers, high-minded gentlefolk, who 
have had their hereditary abodes time out of mind ; but 
as to the poor crows, they are a kind of vagabond, pre- 
datory, gypsy race, roving about the country without any 
settled home ; " their hands are against everybody, and 
everybody's against them," and they are gibbeted in every 
cornfield. Master Simon assures me that a female rook, 
who should so far forget herself as to consort with a 
crow, would inevitably be disinherited, and indeed would 
be totally discarded by all her genteel acquaintance. 

The Squire is very watchful over the interests and 
concerns of his sable neighbors. As to Master Simon, 
he even pretends to know many of them by sight, and to 
have given names to them ; he points out several, which 
he says are old heads of families, and compares them to 
worthy old citizens, beforehand in the world, that wear 
cocked hats, and silver buckles in their shoes. Notwith- 



344 BBACEBBIJDGE HALL. 

standing the protecting benevolence of the Squire, and 
their being residents in his empire, they seem to ac- 
knowledge no allegiance, and to hold no intercourse or 
intimacy. Their airy tenements are built almost out 
of the reach of gunshot ; and notwithstanding their vicin- 
ity to the Hall, they maintain a most reserved and dis- 
trustful shyness of mankind. 

There is one season of the year, however, which brings 
all birds in a manner to a level, and tames the pride of 
the loftiest high-flier, which is the season of building 
their nests. This takes place early in the spring, when 
the forest-trees first begin to show their buds, and the 
long, withy ends of the branches to turn green ; when the 
wild strawberry and other herbage of the sheltered wood- 
lands put forth their tender and tinted leaves ; and the 
daisy and the primrose peep from under the hedges. At 
this time there is a general bustle among the feathered 
tribes ; an incessant fluttering about, and a cheerful 
chirping ; indicative, like the germination of the vegeta- 
ble world, of the reviving life and fecundity of the year. 

It is then that the rooks forget their usual stateliness, 
and their shy and lofty habits. Instead of keeping up in 
the high regions of the air, swinging on the breezy tree- 
tops, and looking down with sovereign contempt upon 
the humble crawlers upon earth, they are fain to throw 
off for a time the dignity of the gentleman, to come down 
to the ground, and put on the painstaking and industri- 
ous character of a laborer. They now lose their natural 



THE BOOEEBY. 345 

shyness, become fearless and familiar, and may be seen 
plying about in all directions, with an air of great assidu- 
ity, in search of building-materials. Every now and then 
your path will be crossed by one of these busy old gen- 
tlemen, worrying about with awkward gait, as if troubled 
with the gout, or with corns on his toes ; casting about 
many a prying look ; turning down first one eye, then the 
other, in earnest consideration, upon every straw he 
meets with; until, espying some mighty twig, large 
enough to make a rafter for his air-castle, he will seize 
upon it with avidity, and hurry away with it to the tree- 
top ; fearing, apparently, lest you should dispute with 
him the invaluable prize. 

Like other castle-builders, these airy architects seem 
rather fanciful in the materials with which they build, 
and to like those most which come from a distance. 
Thus, though there are abundance of dry twigs on the 
surrounding trees, yet they never think of making use of 
them, but go foraging in distant lands, and come sailing 
home one by one, from the ends of the earth, each bear- 
ing in his bill some precious piece of timber. 

Nor must I avoid mentioning, what, I grieve to say, 
rather derogates from the grave and honorable character 
of these ancient gentlefolk, that, during the architectural 
season, they are subject to great dissensions among 
themselves ; that they make no scruple to defraud and 
plunder each other ; and that sometimes the rookery is a 
scene of hideous brawl and commotion, in consequence 



346 BBACEBRIDQE HALL. 

of some delinquency of the kind. One of the partners 
generally remains on the nest to guard it from depreda- 
tion; and I have seen severe contests, when some sly 
neighbor has endeavored to filch away a tempting rafter 
that had captivated his eye. As I am not willing hastily 
to admit any suspicion derogatory to the general char- 
acter of so worshipful a people, I am inclined to think 
these larcencies discountenanced by the higher classes, 
and even rigorously punished by those in authority ; for 
I have now and then seen a whole gang of rooks fall 
upon the nest of some individual, pull it all to pieces, 
carry off the spoils, and even buffet the luckless proprie- 
tor. I have concluded this to be a signal punishment 
inflicted upon him, by the officers of the police, for some 
pilfering misdemeanor ; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of 
bailiffs carrying an execution into his house. 

I have been amused with another of their movements 
during the building-season. The steward has suffered a 
considerable number of sheep to graze on a lawn near 
the house, somewhat to the annoyance of the Squire, who 
thinks this an innovation on the dignity of a park, w"hich 
ought to be devoted to deer only. Be this as it may, 
there is a green knoll, not far from the drawing-room 
window, where the ewes and lambs are accustomed to 
assemble towards evening, for the benefit of the setting 
sun. No sooner were they gathered here, at the time 
when these politic birds were building, than a stately old 
rook, who Master Simon assured me was the chief magis- 



THE ROOKERY. 347 

trate of this community, would settle down upon tlie 
liead of one of the ewes, who, seeming unconscious of 
this condescension, would desist from grazing, and stand 
fixed in motionless reverence of her august burden ; the 
rest of the rookery would then come wheeling down, in 
imitation of their leader, until every ewe had two or 
three of them cawing, and fluttering, and battling upon 
her back. Whether they requited the submission of the 
sheep by levying a contribution upon their fleece for 
the benefit of the rookery, I am not certain ; though I 
presume they followed the usual custom of protecting 
powers. 

The latter part of May is the time of great tribulation 
among the rookeries, when the young are just able to 
leave the nests, and balance themselves on the neighbor- 
ing branches. Now comes on the season of " rook-shoot- 
ing,"— a terrible slaughter of the innocents. The Squire, 
of course, prohibits all invasion of the kind on his terri- 
tories ; but I am told that a lamentable havoc takes 
place in the colony about the old church. Upon this 
devoted commonwealth the village charges "with all its 
chivalry." Every idle wight, lucky enough to possess an 
old gun or blunderbuss, together with all the archery of 
Slingsby's school, takes the field on the occasion. In 
vain does the little parson interfere, or remonstrate, in 
angry tones, from his study-window that looks into the 
church-yard ; there is a continual popping from morning 
till night. Being no great marksmen, their shots are not 



348 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

often effective; but every now and then a great shout 
from the besieging army of bumpkins makes known the 
downfall of some unlucky squab rook, which comes to 
the ground with the emphasis of a squashed apple-dump- 
ling. 

Nor is the rookery entirely free from other troubles 
and disasters. In so aristocratical and lofty-minded a 
community, which boasts so much ancient blood and 
hereditary pride, it is natural to suppose that questions 
of etiquette will sometimes arise, and affairs of honor 
ensue. In fact, this is very often the case ; bitter quar- 
rels break out between individuals, which produce sad 
scufflings on the tree-tops, and I have more than once 
seen a regular duel between two doughty heroes of the 
rookery. Their field of battle is generally the air ; and 
their contest is managed in the most scientific and ele- 
gant manner ; wheeling round and round each other, and 
towering higher and higher, to get the vantage-ground, 
until they sometimes disappear in the clouds before the 
combat is determined. 

They have also fierce combats now and then with an 
invading hawk, and will drive him off from their terri- 
tories by a posse comitatus. They are also extremely 
tenacious of their domains, and will suffer no other bird 
to inhabit the grove or its vicinity. A very ancient and 
respectable old-bachelor owl had for a long time his 
lodgings in a corner of the grove, but has been fairly 
ejected by the rooks ; and has retired, disgusted with the 



THE BOOKEBY. 349 

world, to a neighboring wood, where he leads the life of 
a hermit, and makes nightly complaints of his ill-treat- 
ment. 

The hootings of this unhappy gentleman may gener- 
ally be heard in the still evenings, when the rooks are all 
at rest ; and I have often listened to them, of a moonlight 
night, with a kind of mysterious gratification. This gray- 
bearded misanthrope, of course, is highly respected by 
the Squire ; but the servants have superstitious notions 
about him; and it would be difficult to get the dairy- 
maid to venture after dark near to the wood which he 

inhabits. 

Besides the private quarrels of the rooks, there are 
other misfortunes to which they are liable, and which 
often bring distress into the most respectable families of 
the rookery. Having the true baronial spirit of the good 
old feudal times, they are apt now and then to issue forth 
from their castles on a foray, and lay the plebeian fields 
of the neighboring country under contribution; in the 
course of which chivalrous expeditions they now and 
then get a shot from the rusty artillery of some refractory 
farmer. Occasionally, too, while they are quietly taking 
the air beyond the park boundaries, they have the in- 
caution to come within reach of the truant bowmen of 
Slingsby's school, and receive a flight shot from some un- 
lucky urchin's arrow. In such case the wounded adven- 
turer will sometimes have just strength enough to bring 
himself home, and, giving up the ghost at the rookery, 



350 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

will hang dangling " all abroad " on a bough, like a thief 
on a gibbet : an awful warning to his friends, and an ob- 
ject of great commiseration to the Squire. 

But, maugre all these untoward incidents, the rooks 
have, upon the whole, a happy holiday life of it. When 
their young are reared, and fairly launched upon their 
native element, the air, the cares of the old folks seem 
over, and they resume all their aristocratical dignity and 
idleness. I have envied them the enjoyment which they 
appear to have in their ethereal heights, sporting with 
clamorous exultation about their lofty bowers ; sometimes 
hovering over them, sometimes partially alighting upon 
the topmost branches, and there balancing with out- 
stretched wings, and swinging in the breeze. Sometimes 
they seem to take a fashionable drive to the church, and 
amuse themselves by circling in airy rings about its 
spire ; at other times a mere garrison is left at home to 
mount guard in their stronghold at the grove, while the 
rest roam abroad to enjoy the fine weather. About sun- 
set the garrison gives notice of their return; their faint 
cawing will be heard from a great distance, and they will 
be seen far off like a sable cloud, and then, nearer and 
nearer, until they all come soaring home. Then they 
perform several grand circuits in the air, over the Hall 
and garden, wheeling closer and closer, until they gradu- 
ally settle down ; when a prodigious cawing takes place, 
as though they were relating their day's adventures. 

I like at such times to walk about these dusky groves, 



THE ROOKERY. 351 

and hear the various sounds of these airy people roosted 
so high above me. As the gloom increases, their conver- 
sation subsides, and they gradually drop asleep; but 
every now and then there is a querulous note, as if some 
one was quarrelling for a pillow, or a little more of the 
blanket. It is late in the evening before they completely 
sink to repose, and then their old anchorite neighbor, the 
owl, begins his lonely hootings from his bachelor's-hall, 
in the wood. 




MAY-DAY. 

It is the choice time of the year, 
For the violets uow appear ; 
Now the rose receives its birth, 
And pretty primrose decks the earth. 

Then to the May-pole come away, 

For it is now a holidaj\ 

ACTEON AND DiANA. 

S I was lying in bed this morning, enjoying one 
of those half dreams, half reveries, which are so 
pleasant in the country, when the birds are 
singing about the window, and the sunbeams peeping 
through the curtains, I was roused by the sound of 
music. On going down-stairs, I found a number of villa- 
gers, dressed in their holiday clothes, bearing a pole or- 
namented with garlands and ribbons, and accompanied 
by the village band of music, under the direction of the 
tailor, the pale fellow who plays on the clarinet. They 
had all sprigs of hawthorn, or, as it is called, " the May," 
in their hats, and had brought green branches and flow- 
ers to decorate the Hall doors and windows. They had 
come to give notice that the May-pole was reared on the 

green, and to invite the household to witness the sports. 

353 



MAY-DAY. 353 

The Hall, according to custom, became a scene of liurry 
and delighted confusion. The servants were all agog 
with May and music ; and there was no keeping either 
the tongues or the feet of the maids quiet, who were an- 
ticipating the sports of the green, and the evening dance. 

I repaired to the village at an early hour to enjoy the 
merry-making. The morning was pure and sunny, such 
as a May morning is always described. The fields were 
white with daisies, the hawthorn was covered with its 
fragrant blossoms, the bee hummed about every bank, 
and the swallow played high in the air about the village 
steeple. It was one of those genial days when we seem 
to draw in pleasure with the very air we breathe, and to 
feel happy we know not why. Whoever has felt the 
worth of worthy man, or has doted on lovely woman, will, 
on such a day call them tenderly to mind, and feel his 
heart all alive with long-buried recollections. "For 
thenne," says the excellent romance of King Arthur, 
" lovers call ageyne to their mynde old gentilnes and old 
servyse, and many kind dedes, that were forgotten by 
neglygence." 

Before reaching the village, I saw the May-pole tower- 
ing above the cottages, with its gay garlands and stream- 
ers, and heard the sound of music. Booths had been set 
up near it, for the reception of company ; and a bower of 
green branches and flowers for the Queen of May, a fresh, 
rosy-cheeked girl of the village. 

A band of morris-dancers were capering on the green 
23 



r 



354 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

in tlieir fantastic dresses, jingling witli hawks' bells, with 
a boy dressed up as Maid Marian, and the attendant fool 
rattling his box to collect contributions from the by- 
standers. The gypsy-women too were already plying their 
mystery in by-corners of the village, reading the hands 
of the simple country-girls, and no doubt promising them 
all good husbands and tribes of children. 

The Squire made his appearance in the course of the 
morning, attended by the parson, and was received with 
loud acclamations. He mingled among the country peo- 
ple throughout the day, giving and receiving pleasure 
wherever he went. The amusements of the day were un- 
der the management of Slingsby, the schoolmaster, who 
is not merely lord of misrule in his school, but master of 
the revels to the village. He was bustling about with the 
perplexed and anxious air of a man who has the oppres- 
sive burden of promoting other people's merriment upon 
his mind. He had involved himself in a dozen scrapes 
in consequence of a politic intrigue, which, by the by, 
Master Simon and the Oxonian were at the bottom of, 
which had for its object the election of the Queen of May. 
He had met with violent opposition from a faction of ale- 
drinkers, who were in favor of a bouncing bar-maid, the 
daughter of the innkeeper ; but he had been too strongly 
backed not to carry his point, though it shows that these 
rural crowns, like all others, are objects of great ambition 
and heartTburning. I am told that Master Simon takes 
great interest, though in an underhand way, in the elec- 



MAT-DAY. 355 

tion of these May-day Queens ; and that the chaplet is 
generally secured for some rustic beauty who has found 
favor in his eyes. 

In the course of the day there were various games of 
strength and agility on the green, at which a knot of vil- 
lage veterans presided, as judges of the lists. Among 
these Ready-Money Jack took the lead, looking with a 
learned and critical eye on the merits of the different 
candidates ; and though he was very laconic, and some- 
times merely expressed himself by a nod, it was evident 
his opinions far outweighed those of the most loqua- 
cious. 

Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day, and car- 
ried off most of the prizes, though in some of the feats of 
agility he was rivalled by the " prodigal son," who ap- 
peared much in his element on this occasion ; but his 
most formidable competitor was the notorious gypsy, the 
redoubtable " Starlight Tom." I was rejoiced at having 
an opportunity of seeing this "minion of the moon" in 
broad daylight. I found him a tall, swarthy, good-look- 
ing fellow, with a lofty air, something like what I have 
seen in an Indian chieftain ; and with a certain lounging, 
easy, and almost graceful carriage, which I have often re- 
marked in beings of the lazaroni order, who lead an idle, 
loitering life, and have a gentlemanlike contempt of labor. 

Master Simon and the old general reconnoitred the 
ground together, and indulged a vast deal of harmless 
raking among the buxom country girls. Master Simon 



-f 



356 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

would give some of tliem a kiss on meeting with, them, 
and would ask after their sisters, for he is acquainted 
with most of the farmers' families. Sometimes he would 
whisper, and affect to talk mischievously with them, and, 
if bantered on the subject, would turn it off with a laugh, 
though it was evident he liked to be suspected of being 
a gay Lothario amongst them. 

He had much to say to the farmers about their farms ; 
and seemed to know all their horses by name. There 
was an old fellow, with a round ruddy face, and a night- 
cap under his hat, the village wit, who took several oc- 
casions to crack a joke with him in the hearing of his 
companions, to whom he would turn and wink hard when 
Master Simon had passed. 

The harmony of the day, however, had nearly, at one 
time, been interrupted, by the appearance of the radical 
on the ground, with two or three of his disciples. He 
soon got engaged in argument in the very thick of the 
throng, above which I could hear his voice, and now and 
then see his meagre hand, half a mile out of the sleeve, 
elevated in the air in violent gesticulation, and flourish- 
ing a pamphlet by way of truncheon. He was decrying 
these idle nonsensical amusements in times of public dis- 
tress^ when it was every one's business to think of other 
matters, and to be miserable. The honest village logi- 
cians could make no stand against him, especially as he 
was seconded by his proselytes; when, to their great 
joy, Master Simon and the general came drifting down 



MAT-DAY. 357 

into the field of action. Master Simon was for making 
off, as soon as lie found himself in the neighborhood of 
this fire-ship ; but the general was too loyal to suffer 
such talk in his hearing, and thought, no doubt, that a 
look and a word from a gentleman would be sufficient to 
shut up so shabby an orator. The latter, however, was 
no respecter of persons, but rather exulted in having 
such important antagonists. He talked with greater 
volubility than ever, and soon drowned them in declama- 
tion on the subject of taxes, poor's rates, and the na-' 
tional debt. Master Simon endeavored to brush along in 
his usual excursive manner, which always answered amaz- 
ingly well with the villagers ; but the radical was one of 
those pestilent fellows that pin a man down to facts ; 
and, indeed, he had two or three pamphlets in his 
pocket, to support everything he advanced by printed 
documents. The general, too, found himself betrayed 
into a more serious action than his dignity could brook, 
and looked like a mighty Dutch Indiaman grievously 
peppered by a petty privateer. In vain he swelled and 
looked big, and talked large, and endeavored to make up 
by pomp of manner for poverty of matter ; every home- 
thrust of the radical made him wheeze like a bellows, 
and seemed to let a volume of wind out of him. In a 
word, the two worthies from the Hall were completely 
dumbfounded, and this too in the presence of several of 
Master Simon's stanch admirers, who had always looked 
up to him as infallible. I do not know how he and the 



358 BRACEBRIDOE HALL. 

general would have managed to draw their forces decent- 
ly from the field, had not a match at grinning through a 
horse-collar been announced, whereupon the radical re- 
tired with great expression of contempt, and, as soon as 
his back was turned, the argument was carried against 
him all hollow. 

" Did you ever hear such a pack of stuff, general ? " 
said Master Simon ; " there's no talking with one of these 
chaps when he once gets that confounded Cobbett in his 
head." 

" S'blood, sir ! " said the general, wiping his forehead, 
" such fellows ought to be transported ! " 

In the latter part of the day the ladies from the Hall 
paid a visit to the green. The fair Julia made her ap- 
pearance, leaning on her lover's arm, and looking ex- 
tremely pale and interesting. As she is a great favorite 
in the village, where she has been known from childhood, 
and as her late accident had been much talked about, the 
sight of her caused very manifest delight, and some of 
the old women of the village blessed her sweet face as 
she passed. 

While they were walking about, I noticed the school- 
master in earnest conversation with the Queen of May, 
evidently endeavoring to spirit her up to some formida- 
ble undertaking. At length, as the party from the Hall 
approached her bower, she came forth, faltering at every 
step, until she reached the spot where the fair Julia 
stood between her lover and Lady Lillycraft. The little 



MAT-DAY. 359 

Queen then took tte chaplet of flowers from her head, 
and attempted to put it on that of the bride elect ; but 
the confusion of both was so great that the wreath would 
have fallen to the ground, had not the officer caught it, 
and, laughing, placed it upon the blushing brows of his 
mistress. There was something charming in the very- 
embarrassment of these two young creatures, both so 
beautiful, yet so different in their kinds of beauty. Mas- 
ter Simon told me, afterwards, that the Queen of May 
was to have spoken a few verses which the schoolmaster 
had written for her ; but she had neither wit to under- 
stand, nor memory to recollect them. " Besides," added 
he, " between you and I, she murders the king's English 
abominably ; so she has acted the part of a wise woman 
in holding her tongue, and trusting to her pretty face." 

Among the other characters from the Hall was Mrs. 
Hannah, my Lady Lillycraft's gentlewoman : to my sur- 
prise, she was escorted by old Christy, the huntsman, 
and followed by his ghost of a greyhound ; but I find 
they are very old acquaintances, being drawn together 
by some sympathy of disposition. Mrs. Hannah moved 
about with starched dignity among the rustics, who drew 
back from her with more awe than they did from her 
mistress. Her mouth seemed shut as with a clasp ; ex- 
cepting that I now and then heard the word " fellows ! " 
escape from between her lips, as she got accidentally 
jostled in the crowd. 

But there was one other heart present that did not en- 



360 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

ter into tlie merriment of the scene, wliicli was that of 
tlie simple Plioebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's niece. 
The poor girl has continued to pine and whine for some 
time past, in consequence of the obstinate coldness of her 
loTer; never was a little flirtation more sererely pun- 
ished. She appeared this day on the green, gallanted by 
a smart servant out of livery, and had evidently resolved 
to try the hazardous experiment of awakening the jeal- 
ousy of her lover. She was dressed in her very best ; af- 
fected an air of great gayety, talked loud and girlishly, 
and laughed when there was nothing to laugh at. There 
was, however, an aching, heavy heart in the poor bag- 
gage's bosom, in spite of all her levity. Her eye turned 
every now and then in quest of her reckless lover, and 
her cheek grew pale, and her fictitious gayety vanished, 
on seeing him paying his rustic homage to the little May- 
day Queen. 

My attention was now diverted by a fresh stir and bus- 
tle. Music was heard from a distance ; a banner was ad- 
vancing up the road, preceded by a rustic band playing 
something like a march, and followed by a sturdy throng 
of country lads, the chivalry of a neighboring and rival 
•village. 

No sooner had they reached the green than they chal- 
lenged the heroes of the day to new trials of strength and 
activity. Several gymnastic contests ensued for the 
honor of the respective villages. In the course of these 
exercises, young Tibbets and the champion of the adverse 



MA T-DA T. 361 

party Had an obstinate matcL. at wrestling. They tugged, 
and strained, and panted, without either getting the mas- 
tery, until both came to the ground, and rolled upon the 
green. Just then the disconsolate Phcebe came by. She 
saw her recreant lover in fierce contest, as she thought, 
and in danger. In a moment pride, pique, and coquetry 
were forgotten : she rushed into the ring, seized upon the 
rival champion by the hair, and was on the point of 
wreaking on him her puny vengeance, when a buxom, 
strapping country lass, the sweetheart of the prostrate 
swain, pounced upon her like a hawk, and would have 
stripped her of her fine plumage in a twinkling had she 
also not been seized in her turn. 

A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of the two 
villages became embroiled. Blows began to be dealt, 
and sticks to be flourished. Phoebe was carried off from 
the field in hysterics. In vain did the sages of the village 
interfere. The sententious apothecary endeavored to 
pour the soothing oil of his philosophy upon this tem- 
pestuous sea of passion, but was tumbled into the dust. 
Slingsby, the pedagogue, who is a great lover of peace, 
went into the midst of the throng, as marshal of the day, 
to put an end to the commotion, but was rent in twain, 
and came out with his garment hanging in two strips 
from his shoulders : upon which the prodigal son dashed 
in with fury to revenge the insult sustained by his pa- 
tron. The tumult thickened ; I caught glimpses of the 
jockey-cap of old Christy, like the helmet of a chieftain, 



362 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

bobbing about in the midst of the scuffle ; while Mistress 
Hannah, separated from her doughty protector, was 
squalling and striking at right and left with a faded para- 
sol ; being tossed and tousled about by the crowd in such 
wise as never happened to maiden gentlewoman before. 

At length old Eeady-Money Jack made his way into 
the very thickest of the throng, tearing it, as it were, 
apart, and enforcing peace vi et armis. It was surprising 
to see the sudden quiet that ensued. The storm settled 
down at once into tranquillity. The parties, having no 
real grounds of hostility, were readily pacified, and in 
fact were a little at a loss to know why and how they had 
got by the ears. Slingsby was speedily stitched together 
again by his friend the tailor, and resumed his usual 
good humor. Mrs. Hannah drew on one side to plume 
her rumpled feathers, and old Christy, having repaired 
his damages, took her under his arm, and they swept 
back again to the Hall, ten times more bitter against 
mankind than ever. 

The Tibbets family alone seemed slow in recovering 
from the agitation of the scene. Young Jack was evi- 
dently very much moved by the heroism of the unlucky 
Phoebe. His mother, who had been summoned to the 
field of action by news of the affray, was in a sad panic, 
and had need of all her management to keep him from 
following his mistress, and coming to a perfect reconcil- 
iation. 

"What heightened the alarm and perplexity of the good 



MAY-DAY. 363 

managing dame was, that the matter had aroused the 
slow apprehensions of old Eeady-Money himself; who 
was very much struck by the intrepid interference of so 
pretty and delicate a girl, and was sadly puzzled to un- 
derstand the meaning of the violent agitation in his 
family. 

When all this came to the ears of the Squire, he was 
grievously scandalized that his May-day fete should have 
been disgraced by such a brawl. He ordered Phoebe to 
appear before him, but the girl was so frightened and 
distressed, that she came sobbing and trembling, and, at 
the first question he asked, fell again into hysterics. 
Lady Lillycraft, who understood there was an affair of 
the heart at the bottom of this distress, immediately took 
the girl into great favor and protection, and made her 
peace with the Squire. This was the only thing that dis- 
turbed the harmony of the day, if we except the discom- 
fiture of Master Simon and the general by the radical. 
Upon the whole, therefore, the Squire had very fair rea- 
son to be satisfied that he had rode his hobby through- 
out the day without any other molestation. 

The reader, learned in these matters, will perceive that 
all this was but a faint shadow of the once gay and fanci- 
ful rites of May. The peasantry have lost the proper 
feeling for these rites, and have grown almost as strange 
to them as the boors of La Mancha were to the customs 
of chivalry in the days of the valorous Don Quixote. In- 
deed, I considered it a proof of the discretion with which 



364 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

the Squire rides liis liobby, that lie had not pushed the 
thing any farther, nor attempted to revive many obsolete 
usages of the day, which, in the present matter-of-fact 
times, would appear affected and absurd. I must say, 
though I do it under the rose, the general brawl in which 
this festival had nearly terminated has made me doubt 
whether these rural customs of the good old times were 
always so very loving and innocent as we are apt to fancy 
them, and whether the peasantry in those times were 
really so Arcadian as they have been fondly represented. 
I begin to fear — 

" Those days were never; airy dreams 
Sat for the picture, and the poet's hand, 
Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 
Grant it ; I still must envy them an age 
That favored such a dream." 




THE MANUSCRIPT. 

ESTEEDAT was a day of quiet and repose after 
tlie bustle of May-day. During the morning I 
joined the ladies in a small sitting-room, the 
windows of which came down to the floor, and opened 
upon a terrace of the garden, which was set out with 
delicate shrubs and flowers. The soft sunshine falling 
into the room through the branches of trees that over- 
hung the windows, the sweet smell of flowers, and the 
singing of birds, produced a pleasing yet calming effect 
on the whole party. Some time elapsed without any one 
speaking : Lady Lillycraft and Miss Templeton were sit- 
ting by an elegant work-table, near one of the windows, 
occupied with some pretty lady-like work. The captain 
was on a stool at his mistress's feet, looking over some 
music ; and poor Phoebe Wilkins, who has always been a 
kind of pet among the ladies, but who has risen vastly in 
favor with Lady Lillycraft in consequence of some tender 
confessions, sat in one corner of the room, with swollen 
eyes, working pensively at some of the fair Julia's wed- 
ding-ornaments. 

The silence was interrupted by her ladyship, who sud- 
denly proposed a task to the captain. " I am iny our 



366 BRACEBRIDOE HALL. 

debt," said she, "for that tale you read to us the other 
day ; I will now furnish one in return, if you'll read it ; 
and it is just suited to this sweet May morning, for it is 
all about love ! " 

The proposition seemed to delight every one present. 
The captain smiled assent. Her ladyship rang for her 
page, and despatched him to her room for the manu- 
script. " As the captain," said she, " gave us an account 
of the author of his story, it is but right I should give 
one of mine. It was written by the parson of the parish 
where I reside. He is a thin, elderly man, of a delicate 
constitution, but positively one of the most charming 
men that ever lived. He lost his wife a few years since ; 
one of the sweetest women you ever saw. He has two 
sons, whom he educates himself ; both of whom already 
write delightful poetry. His parsonage is a lovely place, 
close by the church, all overrun with ivy and honey- 
suckles; with the sweetest flower-garden about it; for, 
you know, our country clergymen are almost always fond 
of flowers, and make their parsonages perfect pictures. 

" His living is a very good one, and he is very much 
beloved, and does a great deal of good in the neighbor- 
hood, and among the poor. And then such sermons as 
he preaches ! Oh, if you could only hear one taken from 
a text in Solomon's Song, all about love and matrimony, 
one of the sweetest things you ever heard ! He preaches 
it at least once a year, in spring-time, for he knows I am 
fond of it. He always dines with me on Sundays, and 



THE MANUSCRIPT. 367 

often brings me some of tlie sweetest pieces of poetry, all 
about the pleasures of melancholy, and such subjects, 
that make me cry so, you can't think. I wish he would 
publish. I think he has some things as sweet as any- 
thing of Moore or Lord Byron. 

" He fell into very ill health, some time ago, and was 
advised to go to the Continent ; and I gave him no peace 
until he went, and promised to take care of his two boys 
until he returned. 

"He was gone for above a year, and was quite re- 
stored. When he came back, he sent me the tale I'm 
going to show you. — Oh, here it is ! " said she, as the 
page put in her hands a beautiful box of satin-wood. 
She unlocked it, and among several parcels of notes on 
embossed paper, cards of charades, and copies of verses, 
she drew out a crimson velvet case, that smelt very much 
of perfumes. From this she took a manuscript, daintily 
written on gilt-edged vellum paper, and stitched with a 
light-blue ribbon. This she handed to the captain, who 
read the following tale, which I have procured for the 
entertainment of the reader. 




ANNETTE DELARBEE. 

The soldier frae the war returns, 
And the merchant from the main. 
But I hae parted wi' my loye, 
And ne'er to meet again, 

My dear, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

When day is gone, and night is come, 
And a' are boun to sleep, 
I think on them that's far awa 
The lee-lang night and weep, 

My dear, 
The lee-lang night and weep. 

Old Scotch Ballad. 

N the course of a tour in Lower Normandy I re- 
mained for a day or two in tlie old town of 
Honfleur, which stands near the mouth of the 



Seine. It was the time of a fete, and all the world was 
thronging in the evening to dance at the fair, held before 
the chapel of Our Lady of Grace. As I like all kinds of 
innocent merry-making, I joined the throng. 

The chapel is situated at the top of a high hill, or pro- 
montory, whence its bell may be heard at a distance by 

the mariner at night. It is said to have given the name 

368 



ANNETTE DELABBBE. 369 

to the port of Havre de Grace, whicli lies directly oppo- 
site, on tlie other side of the Seine. The road up to the 
chapel went in a zigzag course along the brow of the steep 
coast ; it was shaded by trees, from between which I had 
beautiful peeps at the ancient towers of Honfleur below, 
the varied scenery of the opposite shore, the white build- 
ings of Havre in the distance, and the wide sea beyond. 
The road was enlivened by groups of peasant girls, in 
bright crimson dresses, and tall caps ; and I found all the 
flower of the neighborhood assembled on the green that 
crowds the summit of the hill. 

The chapel of Notre Dame de Grace is a favorite re- 
sort of the inhabitants of Honfleur and its vicinity, both 
for pleasure and devotion. At this little chapel prayers 
are put up by the mariners of the port previous to their 
voyages, and by their friends during their absence ; and 
votive offerings are hung about its walls, in fulfilment of 
vows made during times of shipwreck and disaster. The 
chapel is surrounded by trees. Over the portal is an 
image of the Virgin and Child, with an inscription which 
struck me as being quite poetical : 

" Etoile de la mer, priez pour nous ! " 
(Star of the sea, pray for us.) 

On a level spot near the chapel, under a grove of 
noble trees, the populace dance on fine summer evenings ; 
and here are held frequent fairs and fetes, which assem- 
ble all the rustic beauty of the loveliest parts of Lower 
24 



370 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

Normandy. Tlie present was an occasion of the kind. 
Booths and tents were erected among the trees; there 
were the usual displays of finery to tempt the rural co- 
quette, and of wonderful shows to entice the curious ; 
mountebanks were exerting their eloquence ; jugglers and 
fortune-tellers astonishing the credulous ; while whole 
rows of grotesque saints, in wood and wax-work, were of- 
fered for the purchase of the pious. 

The fete had assembled in one view all the picturesque 
costumes of the Pays d'Auge and the Cote de Caux. I 
beheld tall, stately caps, and trim bodices, according to 
fashions which have been handed down from mother to 
daughter for centuries ; the exact counterparts of those 
worn in the time of the Conqueror ; and which surprised 
me by their faithful resemblance to those in the old pic- 
tures of Froissart's Chronicles, and in the paintings of 
illuminated manuscripts. Any one, also, who has been 
in Lower Normandy, must have remarked the beauty of 
the peasantry, and that air of native elegance which pre- 
vails among them. It is to this country, undoubtedly, 
that the English owe their good looks. It was hence 
that the bright carnation, the fine blue eye, the light 
auburn hair, passed over to England in the train of the 
Conqueror, and filled the land vith beauty. 

The scene before me was perfectly enchanting : the as- 
semblage of so many fresh and blooming faces ; the gay 
groups in fanciful dresses ; some dancing on the green, 
others strolling about, or seated on the grass ; the fine 



ANNETTE DELABBBE. 37I 

clumps of trees in the foreground, bordering the brow of 
this airy height, and the broad green sea, sleeping in 
summer tranquillity, in the distance. 

Whilst I was regarding this animated picture, I was 
struck with the appearance of a beautiful girl, who 
passed through the crowd without seeming to take any 
interest in their amusements. She was slender and deli- 
cate, without the bloom upon her cheek usual among the 
peasantry of Normandy, and her blue eyes had a singular 
and melancholy expression. She was accompanied by a 
venerable-looking man, whom I presumed to be her 
father. There was a whisper among the by-standers, 
and a wistful look after her as she passed ; the young 
men touched their hats, and some of the children fol- 
lowed her at a little distance, watching her movements. 
She approached the edge of the hill, where there is a lit- 
tle platform, whence the people of Honfleur look out for 
the approach of vessels. Here she stood for some time 
waving her handkerchief, though there was nothing to be 
seen but two or three fishing-boats, like mere specks on 
the bosom of the distant ocean. 

These circumstances excited my curiosity, and I made 
some inquiries about her, which were answered with 
readiness and intelligence by a priest of the neighboring 
chapel. Our conversation drew together several of the 
by-standers, each of whom had something to communi- 
cate, and from them all I gathered the following particu- 
lars. 



372 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

Annette Delarbre was tlie only daughter of one of tlie 
higlier order of farmers, or small proprietors, as they are 
called, of Pont I'Eveque, a pleasant village not far from 
Honfleur, in that rich pastoral part of Lower Normandy 
called the Pays d'Auge. Annette was the pride and de- 
light of her parents, who brought her up with the fondest 
indulgence. She was gay, tender, petulant, and suscep- 
tible. All her feelings were quick and ardent ; and hav- 
ing never experienced contradiction nor restraint, she 
was little practised in self-control : nothing but the native 
goodness of her heart kept her from running continually 
into error. 

Even while a child, her susceptibility was evinced in 
an attachment formed to a playmate, Eugene la Forgue, 
the only son of a widow of the neighborhood. Their 
childish love was an epitome of maturer passion ; it had 
its caprices, and jealousies, and quarrels, and reconcilia- 
tions. It was assuming something of a graver character 
as Annette entered her fifteenth, and Eugene his nine- 
teenth year, when he was suddenly carried off to the 
army by the conscription. 

It was a heavy blow to his widowed mother, for he was 
her only pride and comfort ; but it was one of those 
sudden bereavements which mothers were perpetually 
doomed to feel in France, during the time that continual 
and bloody wars were incessantly draining her youth. It 
was a temporary affliction also to Annette, to lose her 
lover. With tender embraces, half childish, half woman- 



ANNETTE DELABBBE. 373 

ish, she parted from him. The tears streamed from her 
blue eyes as she bound a braid of her fair hair round his 
wrist ; but the smiles still broke through ; for she was 
yet too young to feel how serious a thing is separation, 
and how many chances there are, when parting in this 
wide world, against our ever meeting again. 

Weeks, months, years flew by. Annette increased in 
beauty as she increased in years, and was the reigning 
belle of the neighborhood. Her time passed innocently 
and happily. Her father was a man of some consequence 
in the rural community, and his house was the resort of 
the gayest of the village. Annette held a kind of rural 
court ; she was always surrounded by companions of her 
own age, among whom she shone unrivalled. Much of 
their time was passed in making lace, the prevalent 
manufacture of the neighborhood. As they sat at this 
delicate and feminine labor, the merry tale and sprightly 
song went round : none laughed with a lighter heart than 
Annette ; and if she sang, her voice was perfect melody. 
Their evenings were enlivened by the dance, or by those 
pleasant social games so prevalent among the French ; 
and when she appeared at the village ball on Sunday 
evenings, she was the theme of universal admiration. 

As she was a rural heiress, she did not want for suitors. 
Many advantageous offers were made her, but she refused 
them all. She laughed at the pretended pangs of her 
admirers, and triumphed over them with the caprice of 
buoyant youth and conscious beauty. "With all her ap- 



374 BEACEBBIDGE HALL. 

parent levity, however, could any one have read the story 
of her heart, they might have traced in it some fond re- 
membrance of her early playmate, not so deeply graven 
as to be painful, but too deep to be easily obliterated ; 
and they might have noticed, amidst all her gayety, the 
tenderness that marked her manner towards the mother 
of Eugene. She would often steal away from her youth- 
ful companions and their amusements, to pass whole days 
with the good widow ; listening to her fond talk about 
her boy, and blushing with secret pleasure, when his let- 
ters were read, at finding herself a constant theme of re- 
collection and inquiry. 

At length the sudden return of peace, which sent many 
a warrior to his native cottage, brought back Eugene, a 
young sunburnt soldier, to the village. I need not say 
how rapturously his return was greeted by his mother, 
who saw in him the pride and staff of her old age. He 
had risen in the service by his merit ; but brought away 
but little from the wars, excepting a soldierlike air, a gal- 
lant name, and a scar across the forehead. He brought 
back, however, a nature unspoiled by the camp. He was 
frank, open, generous, and ardent. His heart was quick 
and kind in its impulses, and was perhaps a little softer 
from having suffered ; it was full of tenderness for An- 
nette. He had received frequent accounts of her from 
his mother ; and the mention of her kindness to his lone- 
ly parent had rendered her doubly dear to him. He had 
been wounded ; he had been a prisoner ; he had been in 



ANNETTE DELABBBE. 375 

various troubles, but had always preserved the braid of 
hair which she had bound round his arm. It had been a 
kind of talisman to him ; he had many a time looked upon 
it as he lay on the hard ground, and the thought that he 
might one day see Annette again, and the fair fields 
about his native village, had cheered his heart, and en- 
abled him to bear up against every hardship. 

He had left Annette almost a child ; he found her a 
blooming woman. If he had loved her before, he now 
adored her. Annette was equally struck with the im- 
provement time had made in her lover. She noticed, 
with secret admiration, his superiority to the young men 
of the village ; the frank, lofty, military air, that distin- 
guished him from all the rest at their rural gatherings. 
The more she saw him, the more her light, playful fond- 
ness of former years deepened into ardent and powerful 
affection. But Annette was a rural belle. She had 
tasted the sweets of dominion, and had been rendered 
wilful and capricious by constant indulgence at home, and 
admiration abroad. She was conscious of her power over 
Eugene, and delighted in exercising it. She sometimes 
treated him with petulant caprice, enjoying the pain 
which she inflicted by her frowns, from the idea how 
soon she would chase it away again by her smiles. She 
took a pleasure in alarming his fears, by affecting a tem- 
porary preference for some one or other of his rivals ; 
and then would delight in allaying them by an ample 
measure of returning kindness. Perhaps there was some 



376 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

degree of vanity gratified by all this ; it might be a matter 
of triumph to show her absolute power over the young 
soldier, who was a universal object of female admiration. 
Eugene, however, was of too serious and ardent a nature 
to be trifled with. He loved too fervently not to be filled 
with doubt. He saw Annette surrounded by admirers, 
and full of animation, the gayest among the gay at all 
their rural festivities, and apparently most gay when he 
was most dejected. Every one saw through this caprice 
but himself ; every one saw that in reality she doted on 
him ; but Eugene alone suspected the sincerity of her af- 
fection. For some time he bore this coquetry with se- 
cret impatience and distrust ; but his feelings grew sore 
and irritable, and overcame his self-command. A slight 
misunderstanding took place ; a quarrel ensued. An- 
nette, unaccustomed to be thwarted and contradicted, 
and full of the insolence of youthful beauty, assumed an 
air of disdain. She refused all explanations to her lover, 
and they parted in anger. That very evening Eugene 
saw her, full of gayety, dancing with one of his rivals ; 
and as her eye caught his, fixed on her with unfeigned 
distress, it sparkled with more than usual vivacity. It 
was a finishing blow to his hopes, already so much im- 
paired by secret distrust. Pride and resentment both 
struggled in his breast, and seemed to rouse his spirit to 
all his wonted energy. He retired from her presence 
with the hasty determination never to see her again. 
A woman ' is more considerate in affairs of love than a 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 377 

man ; because love is more the study and business of her 
life. Annette soon repented of her indiscretion ; she felt 
that she had used her lover unkindly ; she felt that she 
had trifled with his sincere and generous nature ; — and 
then he looked so handsome when he parted after their 
quarrel — his fine features lighted up by indignation. 
She had intended making up with him at the evening 
dance ; but his sudden departure prevented her. She 
now promised herself that when next they met she would 
amply repay him by the sweets of a perfect reconcilia- 
tion, and that, thenceforward, she would never — never 
tease him more ! That promise was not to be fulfilled. 
Day after day passed ; but Eugene did not make his ap- 
pearance. Sunday evening came, the usual time when all 
the gayety of the village assembled ; but Eugene was not 
there. She inquired after him ; he had left the village. 
She now became alarmed, and, forgetting all coyness and 
affected indifference, called on Eugene's mother for an 
explanation. She found her full of affliction, and learnt 
with surprise and consternation that Eugene had gone to 
sea. 

While his feelings were yet smarting with her affected 
disdain, and his heart a prey to alternate indignation and 
despair, he had suddenly embraced an invitation which 
had repeatedly been made him by a relative, who was fit- 
ting out a ship from the port of Honfleur, and who 
wished him to be the companion of his voyage. Absence 
appeared to him the only cure for his unlucky passion ; 



378 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

and in the temporary transports of his feelings there was 
something gratifying in the idea of having half the world 
intervene between them. The hurry necessary for his 
departure left no time for cool reflection ; it rendered him 
deaf to the remonstrances of his afflicted mother. He 
hastened to Honfleur just in time to make the needful 
preparations for the voyage ; and the first news that An- 
nette received of this sudden determination was a letter 
delivered by his mother, returning her pledges of affec- 
tion, particularly the long-treasured braid of her hair, 
and bidding her a last farewell, in terms more full of sor- 
row and tenderness than upbraiding. 

This was the first stroke of real anguish that Annette 
had ever received, and it overcame her. The vivacity of 
her spirits were apt to hurry her to extremes ; she for a 
time gave way to ungovernable transports of affliction and 
remorse, and manifested, in the violence of her grief, the 
real ardor of her affection. The thought occurred to her 
that the ship might not yet have sailed ; she seized on 
the hope with eagerness, and hastened with her father to 
Honfleur. The ship had sailed that very morning. From 
the heights above the town she saw it lessening to a 
speck on the broad bosom of the ocean, and before even- 
ing the white sail had faded from her sight. She turned 
full of anguish to the neighboring chapel of Our Lady of 
Grace, and throwing herself on the pavement, poured out 
prayers and tears for the safe return of her lover. 

When she returned home, the cheerfulness of her spir- 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 379 

its was at an end. She looked back with, remorse and 
self-upbraiding on lier past caprices ; slie turned witli 
distaste from the adulation of her admirers, and had no 
longer any relish for the amusements of the village. With 
humiliation and diffidence she sought the widowed moth- 
er of Eugene ; but was received by her with an over- 
flowing heart ; for she only beheld in Annette one who 
could sympathize in her doting fondness for her son. It 
seemed some alleviation of her remorse to sit by the 
mother all day, to study her wants, to beguile her heavy 
hours, to hang about her with the caressing endearments 
of a daughter, and to seek by every means, if possible, to 
supply the place of the son, whom she reproached herself 
with having driven away. 

In the meantime the ship made a prosperous voyage 
to her destined port. Eugene's mother received a letter 
from him, in which he lamented the precipitancy of his 
departure. The voyage had given him time for sober 
reflection. If Annette had been unkind to him, he ought 
not to have forgotten what was due to his mother, who 
was now advanced in years. He accused himself of self- 
ishness in only listening to the suggestions of his own 
inconsiderate passions. He promised to return with the 
ship, to make his mind up to his disappointment, and to 

think of nothing but making his mother happy "And 

when he does return," said Annette, clasping her hands 
with transport, " it shall not be my fault if he ever leaves 
us again." 



380 BRACEBRIDOE HALL. 

The time approached for the ship's return. She was 
daily expected, when the weather became dreadfully tem- 
pestuous. Day after day brought news of vessels found- 
ered, or driven on shore, and the coast was strewed with 
wrecks. Intelligence was received of the looked-for ship 
having been seen dismasted in a violent storm, and the 
greatest fears were entertained for her safety. 

Annette never left the side of Eugene's mother. She 
watched every change of her countenance with painful 
solicitude, and endeavored to cheer her with hopes, while 
her own mind was racked by anxiety. She tasked her 
efforts to be gay; but it was a forced and unnatural 
gayety ; a sigh from the mother would completely check 
it ; and when she could no longer restrain the rising 
tears, she would hurry away and pour out her agony 
in secret. Every anxious look, every anxious inquiry 
of the mother, whenever a door opened, or a strange 
face appeared, was an arrow to her soul. She con- 
sidered every disappointment as a pang of her own in- 
fliction, and her heart sickened under the care-worn 
expression of the maternal eye. At length this sus- 
pense became insupportable. She left the village and 
hastened to Honfleur, hoping every hour, every moment, 
to receive some tidings of her lover. She paced the 
pier, and wearied the seamen of the port with her in- 
quiries. She made a daily pilgrimage to the chapel of 
Our Lady of Grace ; hung votive garlands on the wall, 
and passed hours either kneeling before the altar, or 



ANNETTE DELABBBE. 381 

looking out from tlie brow of tlie liill upon the angry 

sea. 

At length word was brought that the long-wished-for 
vessel was in sight. She was seen standing into the 
mouth of the Seine, shattered and crippled, bearing 
marks of having been sadly tempest-tossed. A general 
joy was diffused by her return; and there was not a 
brighter eye, nor a lighter heart, than Annette's in the 
little port of Honfleur. The ship came to anchor in the 
river ; and a boat put off for the shore. The populace 
crowded down to the pier-head to welcome it. Annette 
stood blushing, and smiling, and trembling, and weeping ; 
for a thousand painfully pleasing emotions agitated her 
breast at the thoughts of the meeting and reconciliation 
about to take place. 

Her heart throbbed to pour itself out, and atone to 
her gallant lover for all its errors. At one moment she 
would place herself in a conspicuous situation, where she 
might catch his view at once, and surprise him by her 
welcome ; but the next moment a doubt would come 
across her mind, and she would shrink among the throng, 
trembling and faint, and gasping with her emotions. Her 
agitation increased as the boat drew near, until it became 
distressing ; and it was almost a relief to her when she 
perceived that her lover was not there. She presumed 
that some accident had detained him on board of the 
ship, and felt that the delay would enable her to gather 
more self-possession for the meeting. As the boat neared 



382 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

tlie shore, many inquiries were made, and laconic an- 
swers returned. At length Annette heard some inquiries 
after her lover. Her heart palpitated ; there was a mo- 
ment's pause : the reply was brief, but awful. He had 
been washed from the deck, with two of the crew, in the 
midst of a stormy night, when it was impossible to ren- 
der any assistance. A piercing shriek broke from among 
the crowd ; and Annette had nearly fallen into the waves. 

The sudden revulsion of feelings after such a transient 
gleam of happiness was too much for her harassed 
frame. She was carried home senseless. Her life was 
for some time despaired of, and it was months before she 
recovered her health ; but she never had perfectly re- 
covered her mind : it still remained unsettled with re- 
spect to her lover's fate. 

" The subject," continued my informer, " is never men- 
tioned in her hearing ; but she sometimes speaks of it 
herself, and it seems as though there were some vague 
train of impressions in her mind, in which hope and fear 
are strangely mingled ; some imperfect idea of her lover's 
shipwreck, and yet some expectation of his return. 

" Her parents have tried every means to cheer her, and 
to banish these gloomy images from her thoughts. They 
assemble round her the young companions in whose so- 
ciety she used to delight ; and they will work and chat, 
and sing, and laugh, as formerly ; but she will sit silently 
among them, and will sometimes weep in the midst of 
their gayety ; and, if spoken to, will make no reply, but 



ANNETTE DELABBBE. 

look up witli streaming eyes, and sing a dismal little 
song, -wliicli slie lias learned somewhere, about a ship- 
wreck. It makes every one's heart ache to see her in 
this way, for she used to be the happiest creature in the 
village. 

"She passes the greater part of the time with Eugene's 
mother ; whose only consolation is her society, and who 
dotes on her with a mother's tenderness. She is the 
only one that has perfect influence over Annette in every 
mood. The poor girl seems, as formerly, to make an ef- 
fort to be cheerful in her company ; but will sometimes 
gaze upon her with the most piteous look, and then kiss 
her gray hairs, and fall on her neck and weep. 

"She is not always melancholy, however; there are 
occasional intervals when she will be bright and ani- 
mated for days together; but a degree of wildness at- 
tends these fits of gayety, that prevents their yielding 
any satisfaction to her friends. At such times she will 
arrange her room, which is all covered with pictures of 
ships and legends of saints; and will wreathe a white 
chaplet, as for a wedding, and prepare wedding-orna- 
ments. She will listen anxiously at the door, and look 
frequently out at the window, as if expecting some one's 
arrival. It is supposed that at such times she is looking 
for her lover's return ; but, as no one touches upon the 
theme, or mentions his name in her presence, the current 
of her thoughts is mere matter of conjecture. Now and 
then she will make a pilgrimage to the chapel of Notre 



384 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

Dame de Grace ; where she will pray for hours at the 
altar, and decorate the images with wreaths that she has 
woven ; or will wave her handkerchief from the terrace, 
as you have seen, if there is any vessel in the distance." 

Upwards of a year, he informed me, had now elapsed 
without effacing from her mind this singular taint of in- 
sanity ; still her friends hoped it might gradually wear 
away. They had at one time removed her to a distant 
part of the country, in hopes that absence from the 
scenes connected with her story might have a salutary 
effect; but, when her periodical melancholy returned, 
she became more restless and wretched than usual, and, 
secretly escaping from her friends, set out on foot, with- 
out knowing the road, on one of her pilgrimages to the 
chapel. 

This little story entirely drew my attention from the 
gay scene of the fete, and fixed it upon the beautiful 
Annette. While she was yet standing on the terrace, 
the vesper-bell rang from the neighboring chapel. She 
listened for a moment, and then drawing a small rosary 
from her bosom, walked in that direction. Several of the 
peasantry followed her in silence ; and I felt too much 
interested not to do the same. 

The chapel, as I said before, is in the midst of a grove, 
on the high promontory. The inside is hung round with 
little models of ships, and rude paintings of wrecks and 
perils at sea, and providential deliverances : the votive 
offerings of captains and crews that have been saved. On 



ANNETTE DELABBRE. 385 

entering, Annette paused for a moment before a picture 
of the Virgin, which, I observed, had recently been deco- 
rated with a wreath of artificial flowers. When she 
reached the middle of the chapel she knelt down, and 
those who followed her involuntarily did the same at a 
little distance. The evening sun shone softly through 
the checkered grove into one window of the chapel. A 
perfect stillness reigned within ; and this stillness was 
the more impressive, contrasted with the distant sound 
of music and merriment from the fair. I could not take 
my eyes off from the poor suppliant ; her lips moved as 
she told her beads, but her prayers were breathed in 
silence. It might have been mere fancy excited by the 
scene, that, as she raised her eyes to heaven, I thought 
they had an expression truly seraphic. But I am easily 
affected by female beauty, and there was something in 
this mixture of love, devotion, and partial insanity, inex- 
pressibly touching. 

As the poor girl left the chapel, there was a sweet 
serenity in her looks ; and I was told she would return 
home, and in all probability be calm and cheerful for 
days, and even weeks ; in which time it was supposed 
that hope predominated in her mental malady ; and when 
the dark side of her mind, as her friends call it, was 
about to turn up, it would be known by her neglecting 
her distaff or her lace, singing plaintive songs, and weep- 
ing in silence. 

She passed on from the chapel without noticing the 
25 



386 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

fete, but smiling and speaking to many as she passed. I 
followed her with my eyes as she descended the wind- 
ing road towards Honfleur, leaning on her father's arm. 
"Heaven," thought I, "has ever its store of balms for 
the hurt mind and wounded spirit, and may in time rear 
up this broken flower to be once more the pride and joy 
of the valley. The very delusion in which the poor girl 
walks may be one of those mists kindly diffused by 
Providence over the regions of thought, when they be- 
come too fruitful of misery. The veil may gradually be 
raised which obscures the horizon of her mind, as she is 
enabled steadily and calmly to contemplate the sorrows 
at present hidden in mercy from her view." 

On my return from Paris, about a year afterwards, I 
turned off from the beaten route at Eouen, to revisit 
some of the most striking scenes of Lower Normandy. 
Having passed through the lovely country of the Pays 
d'Auge, I reached Honfleur on a fine afternoon, intending 
to cross to Havre the next morning, and embark for Eng- 
land. As I had no better way of passing the evening, I 
strolled up the hill to enjoy the fine prospect from the 
chapel of Notre Dame de Grace ; and while there, I 
thought of inquiring after the fate of poor Annette De- 
larbre. The priest who had told me her story was offi- 
ciating at vespers, after which I accosted him, and learnt 
from him the remaining circumstances. He told me that 
from the tirgie I had seen her at the chapel, her disorder 



ANNETTE DELABBBE. 387 

took a sudden turn for the worse, and her health rapidly- 
declined. Her cheerful intervals became shorter and less 
frequent, and attended with more incoherency. She grew 
languid, silent, and moody in her melancholy ; her form 
was wasted, her looks were pale and disconsolate, and it 
was feared she would never recover. She became im- 
patient of all sounds of gayety, and was never so con- 
tented as when Eugene's mother was near her. The 
good woman watched over her with patient, yearning 
solicitude ; and in seeking to beguile her sorrows, would 
half forget her own. Sometimes, as she sat looking upon 
her pallid face, the tears would fill her eyes, which when 
Annette perceived, she would anxiously wipe them away, 
and tell her not to grieve, for that Eugene would soon re- 
turn ; and then she would affect a forced gayety, as in 
former times, and sing a lively air ; but a sudden recollec- 
tion would come over her, and she would burst into tears, 
hang on the poor mother's neck, and entreat her not to 
curse her for having destroyed her son. 

Just at this time, to the astonishment of every one, 
news was received of Eugene ; who, it appears, was still 
living. When almost drowned, he had fortunately seized 
upon a spar, washed from the ship's deck. Finding him- 
self nearly exhausted, he fastened himself to it, and 
floated for a day and night, until all sense left him. On 
recovering, he found himself on board a vessel bound to 
India, but so ill as not to move without assistance. His 
health continued precarious throughout the voyage; on 



388 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

arriving in India, lie experienced many vicissitudes, and 
was transferred from ship to ship, and hospital to hospi- 
tal. His constitution enabled him to struggle through 
every hardship ; and he was now in a distant port, wait- 
ing only for the sailing of a ship to return home. 

Great caution was necessary in imparting these tidings 
to the mother, and even then she was nearly overcome 
by the transports of her joy. But how to impart them to 
Annette was a matter of still greater perplexity. Her 
state of mind had been so morbid, she had been subject 
to such violent changes, and the cause of her derange- 
ment had been of such an inconsolable and hopeless 
kind, that her friends had always forborne to tamper 
with her feelings. They had never even hinted at the 
subject of her griefs, nor encouraged the theme when she 
adverted to it, but had passed it over in silence, hoping 
that time would gradually wear the traces of it from her 
recollection, or, at least, would render them less painful. 
They now felt at a loss how to undeceive her even in her 
misery, lest the sudden recurrence of happiness might 
confirm the estrangement of her reason, or might over- 
power her enfeebled frame. They ventured, however, to 
probe those wounds which they formerly did not dare to 
touch, for they now had the balm to pour into them. 
They led the conversation to those topics which they had 
hitherto shunned, and endeavored to ascertain the cur- 
rent of her thoughts in those varying moods which had 
formerly perplexed them. They found her mind even 



ANNETTE DELAMBBE. 339 

more affected than they had imagined. All her ideas 
were confused and wandering. Her bright and cheerful 
moods, which now grew seldomer than ever, were all the 
effects of mental delusion. At such times she had no 
recollection of her lover's having been in danger, but was 
only anticipating his arrival. "When the winter has 
passed away," said she, " and the trees put on their blos- 
soms, and the swallow comes back over the sea, he will 
return." When she was drooping and desponding, it was 
in vain to remind her of what she had said in her gayer 
moments, and to assure her that Eugene would indeed 
return shortly. She wept on in silence, and appeared 
insensible to their words. But at times her agitation 
became violent, when she would upbraid herself with 
having driven Eugene from his mother, and brought sor- 
row on her gray hairs. Her mind admitted but one lead- 
ing idea at a time, which nothing could avert or efface ; 
or if they ever succeeded in interrupting the current of 
her fancy, it only became the more incoherent, and 
increased the feverishness that preyed upon both mind 
and body. Her friends felt more alarm for her than 
ever, for they feared her senses were irrevocably gone, 
and her constitution completely undermined. 

In the meantime Eugene returned to the village. He 
was violently affected when the story of Annette was told 
him. With bitterness of heart he upbraided his own 
rashness and infatuation that had hurried him away from 
her, and accused himself as the author of all her woes. 



390 BMACEBRIBGE HALL. 

His mother would describe to Mm all the anguish and 
remorse of poor Annette ; the tenderness with which she 
clung to her, and endeavored, even in the midst of her 
insanity, to console her for the loss of her son ; and the 
touching expressions of affection mingled with her most 
incoherent wanderings of thought, until his feelings 
would be wound up to agony, and he would entreat her 
to desist from the recital. They did not dare as yet to 
bring him into Annette's sight ; but he was permitted to 
see her when she was sleeping. The tears streamed 
down his sunburnt cheeks as he contemplated the rav- 
ages which grief and malady had made ; and his heart 
swelled almost to breaking as he beheld round her neck 
the very braid of hair which she once gave him in token 
of girlish affection, and which he had returned to her in 
anger. 

At length the physician that attended her determined 
to adventure upon an experiment; to take advantage of 
one of those cheerful moods when her mind was visited 
by hope, and to endeavor to engraft, as it were, the 
reality upon the delusions of her fancy. These moods 
had now become very rare, for nature was sinking under 
the continual pressure of her mental malady, and the 
principle of reaction was daily growing weaker. Every 
effort was tried to bring on a cheerful interval of the 
kind. Several of her most favorite companions were kept 
continually about her ; they chatted gayly, they laughed, 
and sang, and danced ; but Annette reclined with languid 



ANNETTE DELARBBE. 39I 

frame and hollow eye, and took no part in their gayety. 
At length the winter was gone ; the trees put forth their 
leaves ; the swallows began to build in the eaves of the 
house, and the robin and wren piped all day beneath the 
window. Annette's spirits gradually revived. She began 
to deck her person with unusual care ; and bringing forth 
a basket of artificial flowers, went to work to wreathe a 
bridal chaplet of white roses. Her companions asked 
her why she prepared the chaplet. " What ! " said she 
with a smile, " have you not noticed the trees putting on 
their wedding-dresses of blossoms ? Has not the swal- 
low flown back over the sea? Do you not know that 
the time is come for Eugene to return? that he will 
* be home to-morrow, and that on Sunday we are to be 
married ? " 

Her words were repeated to the physician, and he 
seized on them at once. He directed that her idea 
should be encouraged and acted upon. Her words were 
echoed through the house. Every one talked of the re- 
turn of Eugene as a matter of course ; they congratulated 
her upon her approaching happiness, and assisted her in 
her preparations. The next morning the same theme 
was resumed. She was dressed out to receive her lover. 
Every bosom fluttered with anxiety. A cabriolet drove 
into the village. " Eugene is coming ! " was the cry. She 
saw him alight at the door, and rushed with a shriek into 
his arms. 

Her friends trembled for the result of this critical ex- 



392 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

periment ; but she did not sink under it, for her fancy- 
had prepared her for his return. She was as one in a 
dream, to whom a tide of unlooked-for prosperity, that 
would have overwhelmed his waking reason, seems but 
the natural current of circumstances. Her conversation, 
however, showed that her senses were wandering. There 
was an absolute forgetfulness of all past sorrow ; a wild 
and feverish gayety that at times was incoherent. 

The next morning she awoke languid and exhausted. 
All the occurrences of the preceding day had passed 
away from her mind as though they had been the mere 
illusions of her fancy. She rose melancholy and ab- 
stracted, and as she dressed herself, was heard to sing 
one of her plaintive ballads. When she entered the par-' 
lor, her eyes were swollen with weeping. She heard Eu- 
gene's voice without, and started ; passed her hand across 
her forehead, and stood musing, like one endeavoring to 
recall a dream. Eugene entered the room, and advanced 
towards her ; she looked at him with an eager, searching 
look, murmured some indistinct words, and, before he 
could reach her, sank upon the floor. 

She relapsed into a wild and unsettled state of mind ; 
but now that the first shock was over, the physician or- 
dered that Eugene should keep continually in her sight. 
Sometimes she did not know him ; at other times she 
would talk to him as if he were going to sea, and would 
implore him not to part from her in anger ; and when he 
was not present, she would speak of him as if buried in 



ANNETTE BELARBRE. 393 

the ocean, and would sit, with clasped hands, looking 
upon the ground, the picture of despair. 

As the agitation of her feelings subsided, and her 
frame recovered from the shock it had received, she be- 
came more placid and coherent. Eugene kept almost 
continually near her. He formed the real object round 
which her scattered ideas once more gathered, and which 
linked them once more with the realities of life. But her 
changeful disorder now appeared to take a new turn. 
She became languid and inert, and would sit for hours 
silent, and almost in a state of lethargy. If roused from 
this stupor, it seemed as if her mind would make some 
attempt to follow up a train of thought, but would soon 
become confused. She would regard every one that ap- 
proached her with an anxious and inquiring eye, that 
seemed continually to disappoint itself. Sometimes, as 
her lover sat holding her hand, she would look pensively 
in his face without saying a word, until his heart was 
overcome ; and after these transient fits of intellectual 
exertion, she would sink again into lethargy. 

By degrees this stupor increased ; her mind appeared 
to have subsided into a stagnant and almost deathlike 
calm. For the greater part of the time her eyes were 
closed ; her face was almost as fixed and passionless as 
that of a corpse. She no longer took any notice of sur- 
rounding objects. There was an awfulness in this tran- 
quillity that filled her friends with apprehensions. The 
physician ordered that she should be kept perfectly 



394: BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

quiet; or that, if she evinced any agitation, she should 
be gently lulled, like a child, by some favorite tune. 

She remained in this state for hours, hardly seeming 
to breathe, and apparently sinking into the sleep of 
death. Her chamber was profoundly still. The attend- 
ants moved about it with noiseless tread ; everything was 
communicated by signs and whispers. Her lover sat by 
her side watching her with painful anxiety, and fearing 
every breath which stole from her pale lips would be the 
last. 

At length she heaved a deep sigh ; and from some con- 
vulsive motions, appeared to be troubled in her sleep. 
Her agitation increased, accompanied by an indistinct 
moaning. One of her companions, remembering the 
physician's instructions, endeavored to lull her by sing- 
ing, in a low voice, a tender little air, which was a partic- 
ular favorite of Annette's. Probably it had some connec- 
tion in her mind with her own story ; for every fond girl 
has some ditty of the kind, linked in her thoughts with 
sweet and sad remembrances. 

As she sang, the agitation of Annette subsided. A 
streak of faint color came into her cheeks; her eyelids 
became swollen with rising tears, which trembled there 
for a moment, and then, stealing forth, coursed down her 
pallid cheek. When the song was ended, she opened her 
eyes, and looked about her, as one awaking in a strange 
place. 

" Oh Eugene ! Eugene ! " said she, " it seems as if I 



ANNETTE DELARBRE. 395 

have liad a long and dismal dream : what has happened, 
and what has been the matter with me ? " 

The questions were embarrassing; and before they 
could be answered, the physician, who was in the next 
room, entered. She took him by the hand, looked up in 
his face, and made the same inquiry. He endeavored 
to put her off with some evasive answer. " No, no ! " 
cried she, "I know I have been ill, and I have been 
dreaming strangely. I thought Eugene had left us — and 
that he had gone to sea — and that — and that he was 
drowned ! — But he has been to sea ! " added she earnest- 
ly, as recollection kept flashing upon her, " and he has 
been wrecked — and we were all so wretched — and he 
came home again one bright morning — and — oh ! " said 
she, pressing her hand against her forehead with a sickly 
smile, "I see how it is; all has not been right here. I 
begin to recollect — but it is all past now — Eugene is 
here! and his mother is happy — and we will never — 
never part again — shall we, Eugene ? " 

She sunk back in her chair exhausted; the tears 
streamed down her cheeks. Her companions hovered 
round her, not knowing what to make of this sudden 
dawn of reason. Her lover sobbed aloud. She opened 
her eyes again, and looked upon them with an air of the 
sweetest acknowledgment. "You are all so good to 
me ! " said she, faintly. 

The physician drew the father aside. " Tour daugh- 
ter's mind is restored," said he; "she is sensible that 



396 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

she has been deranged ; she is growing conscious of the 
past, and conscious of the present. All that now re- 
mains is to keep her calm and quiet until her health is 
reestablished, and then let her be married, in God's 
name ! " 

" The wedding took place," continued the good priest, 
"but a short time since ; they were here at the last fete 
during their honey-moon, and a handsomer and happier 
couple was not to be seen as they danced under yonder 
trees. The young man, his wife, and mother, now live on 
a fine farm at Pont L'Eveque ; and that model of a ship 
which you see yonder, with white flowers wreathed round 
it, is Annette's offering of thanks to our Lady of Grace, 
for having listened to her prayers, and protected her 
lover in the hour of peril." 

The captain having finished, there was a momentary 
silence. The tender-hearted Lady Lillycraft, who knew 
the story by heart, had led the way in weeping, and in- 
deed often began to shed tears before they came to the 
right place. 

The fair Julia was a little flurried at the passage where 
wedding preparations were mentioned; but the auditor 
most affected was the simple Phoebe Wilkins. She had 
gradually dropped her work in her lap, and sat sobbing 
through the latter part of the story, until towards the 
end, when the happy reverse had nearly produced an- 
other scene of hysterics. "Go, take this case to my 



ANNETTE DELABBBE. 397 

room again, child," said Lady Lillycraft kindly, "and 
don't cry so mucli." 

"I won't, an't please your ladyship, if I can help it; — 
but I'm glad they made all up again, and were married! " 

By the way, the case of this lovelorn damsel begins to 
make some talk in the household, especially among cer- 
tain little ladies, not far in their teens, of whom she has 
made confidants. She is a great favorite with them all, 
but particularly so since she has confided to them her 
love-secrets. They enter into her concerns with all the 
violent zeal and overwhelming sympathy with which lit- 
tle boarding-school ladies engage in the politics of a love- 
affair. 

I have noticed them frequently clustering about her in 
private conferences, or walking up and down the garden- 
terrace under my window, listening to some long and 
dolorous story of her afflictions ; of which I could now 
and then distinguish the ever-recurring phrases " says 
he," and " says she." 

I accidentally interrupted one of these little councils of 
war, when they were all huddled together under a tree, 
and seemed to be earnestly considering some interesting 
document. The flutter at my approach showed that there 
were some secrets under discussion ; and I observed the 
disconsolate Phoebe crumpling into her bosom either a 
love-letter or an old valentine, and brushing away the 
tears from her cheeks. 

The girl is a good girl, of a soft, melting nature, and 



398 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

sliows lier concern at tlie cruelty of her lover only in 
tears and drooping looks ; but with the little ladies who 
have espoused her cause, it sparkles up into fiery indig- 
nation; and I have noticed on Sunday many a glance 
darted at the pew of the Tibbets's, enough even to melt 
down the silver buttons on old Eeady-Money's jacket. 



TKAYELLING. 

A citizen, for recreation sake, 

To see the country would a journey take 

Some dozen mile, or very little more ; 

Taking his leave with friends two months before 

With drinking healths, and shaking by the hand, 

As he had travail'd to some new-found land. 

Doctor Mekkie Mak, 1609. 



HE Squire has lately received anotlier shock in 
the saddle, and been almost unseated by his 
marplot neighbor, the indefatigable Mr. Faddy, 
who rides his jog-trot hobby with equal zeal ; and is so 
bent upon improving and reforming the neighborhood, 
that the Squire thinks, in a little while, it will be scarce 
worth living in. The enormity that has thus discom- 
posed my worthy host is an attempt of the manufacturer 
to have a line of coaches established, that shall diverge 
from the old route, and pass through the neighboring 
village. 

I believe I have mentioned that the Hall is situated in 
a retired part of the country, at a distance from any great 
coach-road ; insomuch that the arrival of a traveller is 
apt to make every one look out of the window, and to 

399 



400 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

cause some talk among the ale-drinkers at the little inn. 
I was at a loss, therefore, to account for the Squire's in- 
dignation at a measure apparently fraught with conven- 
ience and advantage, until I found that the conveniences 
of travelling were among his greatest grievances. 

In fact, he rails against stage-coaches, post-chaises, and 
turnpike roads, as serious causes of the corruption of 
English rural manners. They have given facilities, he 
says, to every humdrum citizen to trundle his family 
about the kingdom, and have sent the follies and fashions 
of town whirling, in coach-loads, to the remotest parts of 
the island. The whole country, he says, is traversed by 
these flying cargoes ; every by-road is explored by enter- 
prising tourists from Cheapside and the Poultry, and 
every gentleman's park and lawns invaded by cockney 
sketchers of both sexes, with portable chairs and port- 
folios for drawing. 

He laments over this as destroying the charm of pri- 
vacy, and interrupting the quiet of country life ; but more 
especially as affecting the simplicity of the peasantry, 
and filling their heads with half-city notions. A great 
coach-inn, he says, is enough to ruin the manners of a 
whole village. It creates a horde of sots and idlers ; 
makes gapers and gazers and newsmongers of the com- 
mon people, and knowing jockeys of the country bump- 
kins. 

The Squire has something of the old feudal feeling. 
He looks back with regret to the " good old times," when 



TBA VELLmO. 401 

journeys were only made on horseback, and tlie extraor- 
dinary difficulties of trayelling, owing to bad roads, bad 
accommodations, and highway robbers, seemed to sepa- 
rate each village and hamlet from the rest of the world. 
The lord of the manor was then a kind of monarch in the 
little realm around him. He held his court in his pa- 
ternal hall, and was looked up to with almost as much 
loyalty and deference as the king himself. Every neigh- 
borhood was a little world within itself, having its local 
manners and customs, its local history and local opinions. 
The inhabitants were fonder of their homes, and thought 
less of wandering. It was looked upon as an expedition 
to travel out of sight of the parish steeple ; and a man 
that had been to London was a village oracle for the rest 
of his life. 

"What a difference between the mode of travelling in 
those days and at present ! At that time, when a gentle- 
man went on a distant visit, he sallied forth like a 
knight-errant on an enterprise, and every family excur- 
sion was a pageant. How splendid and fanciful must one 
of those domestic cavalcades have been, where the beau- 
tiful dames were mounted on palfreys magnificently ca- 
parisoned, with embroidered harness, all tinkling with 
silver bells ; attended by cavaliers richly attired on pranc- 
ing steeds, and followed by pages and serving-men, as 
we see them represented in old tapestry. The gentry, 
as they travelled about in those days, were like moving 
pictures. They delighted the eyes and awakened the 
36 



402 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

admiration of the common people, and passed before 
tliem like superior beings ; and indeed they were so ; 
there was a hardy and healthful exercise connected with 
this equestrian style, that made them generous and 
noble. 

In his fondness for the old style of travelling, the 
Squire makes most of his journeys on horseback, though 
he laments the modern deficiency of incident on the 
road, from the want of fellow-wayfarers, and the rapidity 
with which every one else is whirled along in coaches 
and post-chaises. In the "good old times," on the 
contrary, a cavalier jogged on through bog and mire, 
from town to town, and hamlet to hamlet, conversing 
with friars and franklens, and all other chance com- 
panions of the road; beguiling the way with travellers' 
tales, which then were truly wonderful, for everything 
beyond one's neighborhood was full of marvel and ro- 
mance ; stopping at night at some " hostel," where the 
bush over the door proclaimed good wine, or a pretty 
hostess made bad wine palatable ; meeting at supper 
with travellers, or listening to the song or merry story of 
the host, who was generally a boon companion, and pre- 
sided at his own board; for, according to old Tusser's 
" Innholder's Poesie," 

" At meales my friend who vitleth here 
And sitteth with his host, 
Shall both be sure of better eheere, 
, And 'scape with lesser cost." 



TBAVELLING. 403 

Tlie Squire is fond, too, of stopping at those inns 
■wliicli may be met witli, here and there, in ancient 
houses of wood and plaster, or calimanco houses, as they 
are called by antiquaries, with deep porches, diamond- 
paned bow-windows, panelled rooms, and great fire- 
places. He will prefer them to more spacious and mod- 
ern inns, and would cheerfully put up with bad cheer 
and bad accommodations in the gratification of his 
humor. They give him, he says, the feeling of old times, 
insomuch that he almost expects, in the dusk of the 
evening, to see some party of weary travellers ride up to 
the door, with plumes and mantles, trunk-hose, wide 
boots, and long rapiers. 

The good Squire's remarks brought to mind a visit I 
once paid to the Tabard Inn, famous for being the place 
of assemblage whence Chaucer's pilgrims set forth for 
Canterbury. It is in the borough of Southwark, not far 
from London Bridge, and bears, at present, the name of 
" The Talbot." It has sadly declined in dignity since the 
days of Chaucer, being a mere rendezvous and packing- 
place of the great wagons that travel into Kent. The 
court-yard, which was anciently the mustering-place of 
the pilgrims previous to their departure, was now lum- 
bered with huge wagons. Crates, boxes, hampers, and 
baskets, containing the good things of town and country, 
were piled about them ; while, among the straw and lit- 
ter, the motherly hens scratched and clucked, with their 
hungry broods at their heels. Instead of Chaucer's mot- 



404 BBAGEBRIDOE HALL. 

ley and splendid throng, I only saw a group of wagoners 
and stable-boys enjoying a circulating pot of ale ; wliile a 
long-bodied dog sat by, witb head on one side, ear cocked 
up, and wistful gaze, as if waiting for his turn at the 
tankard. 

Notwithstanding this grievous declension, however, I 
was gratified at perceiving that the present occupants 
were not unconscious of the poetical renown of their 
mansion. An inscription over the gateway proclaimed it 
to be the inn where Chaucer's pilgrims slept on the night 
previous to their departure, and at the bottom of the 
yard was a magnificent sign, representing them in the act 
of sallying forth. I was pleased, too, at noticing, that 
though the present inn was comparatively modern, the 
form of the old inn was preserved. There were galleries 
round the yard, as in old times, on which opened the 
chambers of the guests. To these ancient inns have an- 
tiquaries ascribed the present forms of our theatres. 
Plays were originally acted in the inn-yards. The guests 
lolled over the galleries, which answered to our modern 
dress-circle ; the critical mob clustered in the yard in- 
stead of the pit ; and the groups gazing from the garret- 
windows were no bad representatives of the gods of the 
shilling gallery. When, therefore, the drama grew im- 
portant enough to have a house of its own, the architects 
took a hint for its construction from the yard of the an- 
cient " hostel." 

I was so well pleased at finding these remembrances of 



TRAVELLING. 405 

Chaucer and his poem, that I ordered my dinner in the 
little parlor of the Talbot. "Whilst it was preparing, I sat 
at the window, musing, and gazing into the court-yard, 
and conjuring up recollections of the scenes depicted in 
such lively colors by the poet, until, by degrees, boxes, 
bales, and hampers, boys, wagoners, and dogs faded from 
sight, and my fancy peopled the place with the motley 
throng of Canterbury pilgrims. The galleries once more 
swarmed with idle gazers, in the rich dresses of Chau- 
cer's time, and the whole cavalcade seemed to pass before 
me. There was the stately knight on sober steed, who 
had ridden in Christendom and heathenesse, and had 
"foughten for our faith at Tramissene"; — and his son, 
the young squire, a lover, and a lusty bachelor, with 
curled locks and gay embroidery ; a bold rider, a dancer, 
and a writer of verses, singing and fluting all day long, 
and "fresh as the month of May"; — and his "knot- 
headed" yeoman; a bold forester, in green, with horn, 
and baudrick, and dagger ; a mighty bow in hand, and 
a sheaf of peacock arrows shining beneath his belt ; — 
and the coy, smiling, simple nun, with her grey eyes, 
her small red mouth and fair forehead, her dainty person 
clad in featly cloak and " 'ypinched wimple," her coral 
beads about her arm, her golden brooch with a love- 
motto, and her pretty oath " by Saint Eloy " ;— and the 
merchant, solemn in speech and high on horse, with 
forked beard and" Flaundrish bever hat";— and the lusty 
monk, "full fat and in good point," with berry-brown 



406 BBAGEBRIDQE HALL. 

palfrey, his hood fastened with gold pin, wrought with a 
love-knot, his bald head shining like glass, and his face 
glistening as though it had been anointed ; — and the lean, 
logical, sententious clerke of Oxenforde, upon his half- 
starved, scholarlike horse ; — and the bowsing sompnour, 
with fierj-cherub face, all knobbed with pimples, an eater 
of garlic and onions, and drinker of " strong wine, red as 
blood," that carried a cake for a buckler, and babbled 
Latin in his cups ; of whose brimstone visage " children 
were sore aferd " ; — and the buxom wife of Bath, the 
widow of five husbands, upon her ambling nag, with her 
hat broad as a buckler, her red stockings and sharp 
spurs ; — and the slender, choleric reeve of Norfolk, be- 
striding his good gray stot ; with close-shaven beard, his 
hair cropped round his ears ; long, lean calfless legs and 
a rusty blade by his side ; — and the jolly Limitour, with 
lisping tongue and twinkling eye, well beloved of frank- 
lens and housewives, a great promoter of marriages 
among young women, known at the taverns in every town 
and by every "hosteler and gay tapstere." In short, be- 
fore I was roused from my reverie by the less poetical, 
but more substantial apparition of a smoking beefsteak, I 
had seen the whole cavalcade issue forth from the hostel- 
gate, with the brawny, double-jointed, red-haired miller, 
playing the bagpipes before them, and the ancient host 
of the Tabard giving them his farewell God-send to Can- 
terbury. 

When I told the Squire of the existence of this legiti- 



TBAVELLma. 407 

mate descendant of the ancient Tabard Inn, his eyes ab- 
solutely glistened with delight. He determined to hunt 
it up the very first time he visited London, and to eat a 
dinner there, and drink a cup of mine host's best wine, 
in memory of old Chaucer. The general, who happened 
to be present, immediately begged to be of the party, for 
he liked to encourage these long-established houses, as 
they are apt to have choice old wines. 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 

Farewell rewards and fairies, 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now fowle sluts in dairies 

Do fare as well as they : 
And though they sweepe their hearths no lesse 

Than maids were wont to doe, 
Yet who of late for cleanlinesse 

Finds sixpence in her shooe ? 

Bishop Coebet. 

HAYE mentioned tlie Squire's fondness for the 
marvellous, and his predilection for legends 
and romances. His library contains a curious 
collection of old works of this kind, which bear evident 
marks of having been much read. In his great love for 
all that is antiquated, he cherishes popular superstitions, 
and listens, with very grave attention, to every tale, how- 
ever strange ; so that, through his countenance, the house- 
hold, and indeed the whole neighborhood, is well stocked 
with wonderful stories ; and if ever a doubt is expressed 
of any one of them, the narrator will generally observe, 
that " the Squire thinks there's something in it." 

The Hall of course comes in for its share, the common 
people having, always a propensity to furnish a great su- 

408 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 409 

perannuated building of tlie kind witli supernatural in- 
habitants. The gloomy galleries of sucli old family man- 
sions; the stately chambers, adorned with grotesque 
carvings and faded paintings; the sounds that vaguely 
echo about them; the moaning of the wind; the cries 
of rooks and ravens from the trees and chimney-tops; 
all produce a state of mind favorable to superstitious 
fancies. 

In one chamber of the Hall, just opposite a door which 
opens upon a dusky passage, there is a full-length por- 
trait of a warrior in armor. When, on suddenly turning 
into the passage, I have caught a sight of the portrait, 
thrown into strong relief by the dark panelling against 
which it hangs, I have more than once been startled, as 
though it were a figure advancing towards me. 

To superstitious minds, therefore, predisposed by the 
strange and melancholy stories connected with family 
paintings, it needs but little stretch of fancy, on a moon- 
light night, or by the flickering light of a candle, to set 
the old pictures on the walls in motion, sweeping in their 
robes and trains about the galleries. 

The Squire confesses that he used to take a pleasure 
in his younger days in setting marvellous stories afloat, 
and connecting them with the lonely and peculiar places 
of the neighborhood. Whenever he read any legend of 
a striking nature, he endeavored to transplant it, and 
give it a local habitation among the scenes of his boy- 
hood. Many of these stories took root, and he says 



410 BBAGEBRIDGE HALL. 

lie is often amused with tlie odd shapes in which, they 
come back to him in some old woman's narrative, after 
they have been circulating for years among the peas- 
antry, and undergoing rustic additions and amendments. 
Among these may doubtless be numbered that of the 
crusader's ghost, which I have mentioned in the account 
of my Christmas visit ; and another about the hard-riding 
squire of yore, the family Mmrod, who is sometimes 
heard on stormy winter nights, galloping, with hound and 
horn, over a wild moor a few miles distant from the Hall. 
This I apprehend to have had its origin in the famous 
story of the wild huntsman, the favorite goblin in Ger- 
man tales ; though, by the by, as I was talking on the 
subject with Master Simon, the other evening in the dark 
avenue, he hinted that he had himself once or twice 
heard odd sounds at night, very like a pack of hounds in 
cry ; and that once, as he was returning rather late from 
a hunting-dinner, he had seen a strange figure galloping 
along this same moor ; but as he was riding rather fast 
at the time, and in a hurry to get home, he did not stop 
to ascertain what it was. 

Popular superstitions are fast fading away in England, 
owing to the general diffusion of knowledge, and the 
bustling intercourse kept up throughout the country ; — 
still they have their strongholds and lingering places, 
and a retired neighborhood like this is apt to be one of 
them. The parson tells me that he meets with many 
traditional beliefs and notions among the common peo- 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 411 

pie, whicli lie has been able to draw from tbem in tlie 
course of familiar conversation, though, they are rather 
shy of avowing them to strangers, and particularly to " the 
gentry" who are apt to laugh at them. He says there are 
several of his old parishioners who remember when the 
village had its bar-guest, or bar-ghost ; a spirit supposed 
to belong to a town or village, and to predict any impend- 
ing misfortune by midnight shrieks and wailings. The 
last time it was heard was just before the death of Mr. 
Bracebridge's father, who was much beloved throughout 
the neighborhood; though there are not wanting some 
obstinate unbelievers, who insisted that it was nothing 
but the howling of a watch-dog. I have been greatly 
delighted, however, at meeting with some traces of my 
old favorite, Eobin Goodfellow, though under a dilfferent 
appellation from any of those by which I have heretofore 
heard him called. The parson assures me that many of 
the peasantry believe in household goblins, called Dob- 
bies, which live about particular farms and houses, in 
the same way that Kobin Goodfellow did of old. Some- 
times they haunt the barns and out-houses, and now and 
then will assist the farmer wonderfully, by getting in all 
his hay or corn in a single night. In general, however, 
they prefer to live within doors, and are fond of keeping 
about the great hearths, and basking at night, after the 
family have gone to bad, by the glowing embers. When 
put in particular good humor by the warmth of their 
lodgings, and the tidiness of the housemaids, they will 



412 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

overcome their natural laziness, and do a vast deal of 
household work before morning; churning the cream, 
brewing the beer, or spinning all the good dame's flax. 
All this is precisely the conduct of Bobin Goodfellow, 
described so charmingly by Milton : 

" Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 
To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn. 
His shadowy flail had threshed the corn 
That ten day laborers could not end ; 
Then lays him down the lubber-fiend, 
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length. 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-full, out of door he flings 
Ere the first cock his matin rings." 

But beside these household Dobbies, there are others 
of a more gloomy and unsocial nature, which keep about 
lonely barns, at a distance from any dwelling-house, or 
about ruins and old bridges. These are full of mischiev- 
ous, and often malignant tricks, and are fond of playing 
pranks upon benighted travellers. There is a story, 
among the old people, of one which haunted a ruined mill, 
just by a bridge that crosses a small stream ; how that 
late one night, as a traveller was passing on horseback, 
the goblin jumped up behind him, and grasped him so 
close round the body that he had no power to help him- 
self, but expected to be squeezed to death ; luckily his 
heels were loose, with which he plied the sides of his 




%.. ch^.uA^A,'^' iir^A^i) 



l^opidu 



POPULAR 8UPEBSTITI0N8. 413 

steed, and was carried, witli the wonderful instinct of a 
traveller's horse, straight to the village inn. Had the inn 
been at any greater distance, there is no doubt but he 
would have been strangled to death ; as it was, the good 
people were a long time in bringing him to his senses, 
and it was remarked that the first sign he showed of 
returning consciousness was to call for a bottom of 
brandy. 

These mischievous Dobbies bear much resemblance in 
thei:^ natures and habits to the sprites which Heywood, 
in his "Hierarchic," calls pugs or hobgoblins : 

" Their dwellings be 
In comers of old houses least frequented, 
Or beneath stacks of wood, and these convented, 
Make fearful noise in butteries and in dairies ; 
Eobin Goodfellow some, some call them fairies, 
In solitarie rooms these uprores keep, 
And beate at doores to wake men from their slepe, 
Seeming to force lockes, be they nere so strong. 
And keeping Christmasse gambols all night long. 
Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pannes, and kettles 
They wiU make dance about the shelves and settles, 
As if about the kitchen tost and cast, 
Yet in the morning nothing found misplac't. 
Others such houses to their use have fitted 
In which base murthers have been once committed. 
Some have their fearful habitations taken 
In desolate houses, ruin'd and forsaken." 

In the account of our unfortunate hawking expedition, 



414: BBACEBBIDGE RALL. 

I mentioned an instance of one of tliese sprites supposed 
to haunt the ruined grange that stands in a lonely 
meadow, and has a remarkable echo. The parson in- 
forms me, also, of a belief once very prevalent, that a 
household Dobbie kept about the old farmhouse of the 
Tibbetses. It has long been traditional, he says, that 
one of these good-natured goblins is attached to the Tib- 
bets family, and came with them when they moved into 
this part of the country ; for it is one of the peculiarities 
of these household sprites that they attach themselves to 
the fortunes of certain families, and follow them in all 
their removals. 

There is a large old-fashioned fireplace in the farm- 
house, which affords fine quarters for a chimney-corner 
sprite that likes to lie warm, — especially as Eeady-Money 
Jack keeps up rousing fires in the winter time. The old 
people of the village recollect many stories about this 
goblin, current in their young days. It was thought to 
have brought good luck to the house, and to be the 
reason why the Tibbetses were always beforehand in the 
world ; and why their farm was always in better order, 
their hay got in sooner, and their corn better stacked, 
than that of their neighbors. The present Mrs. Tibbets, 
at the time of her courtship, had a number of these sto- 
ries told her by the country gossips ; and when married, 
was a little fearful about living in a house where such a 
hobgoblin was said to haunt. Jack, however, who has 
always treated this story with great contempt, assured 



POPULAR 8UPEB8TITI0N8. 415 

her that tliere was no spirit kept about his house that he 
could not at any time lay in the Eed Sea with one flour- 
ish of his cudgel. Still his wife has never got completely 
over her notions on the subject ; but has a horse-shoe 
nailed on the threshold, and keeps a branch of rauntry, 
or mountain-ash, with its red berries, suspended from 
one of the great beams in the parlor, — a sure protection 
from all evil spirits. 

These stories, as I before observed, are fast fading 
away, and in, another generation or two will probably be 
completely forgotten. There is something, however, 
about these rural superstitions'extremely pleasing to the 
imagination ; particularly those which relate to the good- 
humored race of household demons, and indeed to the 
whole fairy mythology. The English have given an in- 
expressible charm to these superstitions, by the manner 
in which they have associated them with whatever is 
most homefelt and delightful in nature. I do not know a 
more fascinating race of beings than these little fabled 
people who haunted the southern sides of hills and 
mountains ; lurked in flowers and about fountain-heads ; 
glided through keyholes into ancient halls ; watched over 
farmhouses and dairies ; danced on the green by summer 
moonlight, and on the kitchen hearth in winter. They 
accord with the nature of English housekeeping and 
English scenery. I always have them in mind when I 
see a fine old English mansion, with its wide hall and 
spacious kitchen; or a venerable farmhouse, in which 



416 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

tliere is so mucli fireside comfort and good housewifery. 
There was something of national character in their Ioyb 
of order and cleanliness ; in the vigilance with which 
they watched over the economy of the kitchen, and the 
functions of the servants ; munificently rewarding, with 
silver sixpence in shoe, the tidy housemaid, but venting 
their direful wrath, in midnight bobs and pinches, upon 
the sluttish dairymaid. I think I can trace the good ef- 
fects of this ancient fairy sway over household concerns 
in the care that prevails to the present day among Eng- 
lish housemaids to put their kitchens in order before 
they go to bed. 

I have said that these fairy superstitions accord with 
the nature of English scenery. They suit these small 
landscapes, which are divided by honeysuckle hedges 
into sheltered fields and meadows ; where the grass is 
mingled with daisies, buttercups, and hare-bells. When 
I first found myself among English scenery, I was contin- 
ually reminded of the sweet pastoral images which dis- 
tinguish their fairy mythology; and when for the first 
time a circle in the grass was pointed out to me as one 
of the rings where they were formerly supposed to have 
held their moonlight revels, it seemed for a moment as if 
fairy-land were no longer a fable. Brown, in his " Bri- 
tannia's Pastorals," gives a picture of the kind of scenery 
to which I allude : 

"A pleasant mead 
Where fairies often did their measures tread ; 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 417 

Which in the meadows make such circles green 
As if with garlands it had crowned been. 
Within one of these rounds was to be seen 
A hillock rise, where oft the fairy queen 
At twilight sat." 

And there is another picture of the same, in a poem as- 
cribed to Ben Jonson : 

" By wells and rUls in meadows green, 
We nightly dance our hey-dey guise, 
And to our fairy king and queen 
We chant our moonlight minstrelsies." 

Indeed, it seems to me, that the older British poets, 
with that true feeling for nature which distinguishes 
them, have closely adhered to the simple and familiar 
imagery which they found in these popular superstitions ; 
and have thus given to their fairy mythology those con- 
tinual allusions to the farmhouse and the dairy, the green 
meadow and the fountain-head, which fill our minds with 
the delightful associations of rural life. It is curious to 
observe how the most beautiful fictions have their origin 
among the rude and ignorant. There is an indescribable 
charm about the illusions with which chimerical igno- 
rance once clothed every subject. These twilight views 
of nature are often more captivating than any which are 
revealed by the rays of enlightened philosophy. The 
most accomplished and poetical minds, therefore, have 
been fain to search back into the accidental conceptions 
of what are termed barbarous ages, and to draw from 
27 



418 BRAGEBBIDOE HALL. 

them their finest imagery and machinery. If we look 
through our most admired poets, we shall find that their 
minds have been impregnated by these popular fancies, 
and that those have succeeded best who have adhered 
closest to the simplicity of their rustic originals. Such 
is the case with Shakespeare in his " Midsummer-Night's 
Dream," which so minutely describes the employments 
and amusements of fairies, and embodies all the notions 
concerning them which were current among the vulgar. 
It is thus that poetry in England has echoed back every 
rustic note, softened into perfect melody ; it is this that 
has spread its charms over every-day life, displacing 
nothing ; taking things as it found them ; but tinting 
them up with its own magical hues, until every green 
hill and fountain-head, every fresh meadow, nay, every 
humble flower, is full of song and story. 

I am dwelling too long, perhaps, upon a threadbare 
subject; yet it brings up with it a thousand delicious 
recollections of those happy days of childhood, when the 
imperfect knowledge I have since obtained had not yet 
dawned upon my mind, and when a fairy tale was true 
history to me. I have often been so transported by 
the pleasure of these recollections, as almost to wish 
I had been born in the days when the fictions of poetry 
were believed. Even now I cannot look upon those fan- 
ciful creations of ignorance and credulity, without a lurk- 
ing regret that they have all passed away. The experi- 
ence of my early days tells me, they were sources of ex- 



POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 419 

quisite delight; and I sometimes question whether the 
naturalist who can dissect the flowers of the field re- 
ceives half the pleasure from contemplating them that he 
did who considered them the abode of elves and fairies. 
I feel convinced that the true interests and solid happi- 
ness of man are promoted by the advancement of truth ; 
yet I cannot but mourn over the pleasant errors which it 
has trampled down in its progress. The fauns and 
sylphs, the household sprites, the moonlight revel, Obe- 
ron, Queen Mab, and the delicious realms of fairy-land, 
all vanish before the light of true philosophy ; but who 
does not sometimes turn with distaste from the cold re- 
alities of morning, and seek to recall the sweet visions of 
the night? 



THE CULPEIT. 

From fire, from water, and all things amiss, 
Deliver the house of an honest justice. 

The Wido-w. 

HE serenity of the Hall has been suddenly in- 
terrupted by a very important occurrence. In 
the course of this morning a posse of villagers 
were seen trooping up the avenue, with boys shouting in 
advance. As it drew near, we perceived Ready-Money 
Jack Tibbets striding along, wielding his cudgel in one 
hand, and with the other grasping the collar of a tall fel- 
low, whom, on still nearer approach, we recognized for 
the redoubtable gypsy hero, Starlight Tom. He was 
now, however, completely cowed and crestfallen, and his 
courage seemed to have quailed in the iron gripe of the 
lion-hearted Jack. 

The whole gang of gypsy women and children came 
draggling in the rear ; some in tears, others making a 
violent clamor about the ears of old Beady-Money, who, 
however, trudged on in silence with his prey, heeding 
their abuse as little as a hawk that has pounced upon a 
barn-door hero regards the outcries and cacklings of his 
whole feathered seraglio. 

420 



THE CULPRIT. 421 

He liad passed through the village on his way to the 
Hall, and of course had made a great sensation in that 
most excitable place, where every event is a matter of 
gaze and gossip. The report flew like wildfire, that Star- 
light Tom was in custody. The ale-drinkers forthwith 
abandoned the tap-room ; Slingsby's school broke loose, 
and master and boys swelled the tide that came rolling 
at the heels of old Ready-Money and his captive. 

The uproar increased as they approached the Hall ; it 
aroused the whole garrison of dogs, and the crew of 
hangers-on. The great mastiff barked from the dog- 
house ; the staghound and the greyhound, and the 
spaniel, issued barking from the hall-door, and my Lady 
Lillycraft's little dogs ramped and barked from the par- 
lor-window. I remarked, however, that the gypsy dogs 
made no reply to all these menaces and insults, but crept 
close to the gang, looking round with a guilty, poaching 
air, and now and then glancing up a dubious eye to their 
owners ; which shows that the moral dignity, even of 
dogs, may be ruined by bad company ! 

When the throng reached the front of the house they 
were brought to a halt by a kind of advanced guard, com- 
posed of old Christy, the gamekeeper, and two or three 
servants of the house, who had been brought out by the 
noise. The common herd of the village fell back with re- 
spect; the boys were driven back by Christy and his 
compeers; while Eeady-Money Jack maintained his 
ground and his hold of the prisoner, and was surrounded 



422 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

by the tailor, tlie schoolmaster, and several other digni- 
taries of the village, and by the clamorous brood of gyp- 
sies, who were neither to be silenced nor intimidated. 

By this time the whole household were brought to the 
doors and windows, and the Squire to the portal. An 
audience was demanded by Eeady-Money Jack, who had 
detected the prisoner in the very act of sheep-stealing on 
his domains, and had borne him off to be examined be- 
fore the Squire, who was in the commission of the peace. 

A kind of tribunal was immediately held in the ser- 
vants' hall, a large chamber, with a stone floor, and a long 
table in the centre, at one end of which, just under an 
enormous clock was placed the Squire's chair of justice, 
while Master Simon took his place at the table as clerk 
of the court. An attempt had been made by old Christy 
to keep out the gypsy gang, but in vain, and they, with 
the village worthies, and the household, half filled the 
hall. The old housekeeper and the butler were in a 
panic at this dangerous irruption. They hurried away 
all the valuable things and portable articles that were at 
hand, and even kept a dragon watch on the gypsies, 
lest they should carry off the house-clock, or the deal 
table. 

Old Christy, and his faithful coadjutor the gamekeeper, 
acted as constables to guard the prisoner, triumphing in 
having at last got this terrible offender in their clutches. 
Indeed, I am inclined to think the old man bore some 
peevish recollection of having been handled rather 



THE CULPRIT. 423 

roughly by the gypsy in the chance-medley affair of May- 
day. 

Silence was now commanded by Master Simon, but it 
was dijBficult to be enforced in such a motley assemblage. 
There was a continual snarling and yelping of dogs, and, 
as fast as it was quelled in one corner, it broke out in 
another. The poor gypsy curs, who, like errant thieves, 
could not hold up their heads in an honest house, were 
worried and insulted by the gentlemen dogs of the estab- 
lishment, without offering to make resistance ; the very 
curs of my Lady Lillycraft bullied them with impunity. 

The examination was conducted with great mildness 
and indulgence by the Squire, partly from the kindness 
of his nature, and partly, I suspect, because his heart 
yearned towards the culprit, who had found great favor 
in his eyes, as I have already observed, from the skill he 
had at various times displayed in archery, morris-danc- 
ing, and other obsolete accomplishments. Proofs, how- 
ever, were too strong. Ready-Money Jack told his story 
in a straightforward independent way, nothing daunted 
by the presence in which he found himself. He had suf- 
fered from various depredations on his sheepfold and 
poultry-yard, and had at length kept watch, and caught 
the delinquent in the very act of making off with a sheep 
on his shoulders. 

Tibbets was repeatedly interrupted, in the course of 
his testimony, by the culprit's mother, a furious old bel- 
dame, with an insufferable tongue, and who, in fact, was 



424 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

several times kept, with some difficulty, from flying at 
him tooth and nail. The wife, too, of the prisoner, whom 
I am told he does not beat above half a dozen times a 
week, completely interested Lady Lillycraft in her hus- 
band's behalf, by her tears and supplications ; and sev- 
eral of the other gypsy women were awakening strong 
sympathy among the young girls and maid-servants in 
the background. The pretty black-eyed gypsy girl, whom 
I have mentioned on a former occasion as the sibyl that 
read the fortunes of the general, endeavored to wheedle 
that doughty warrior into their interests, and even made 
some approaches to her old acquaintance. Master Simon ; 
but was repelled by the latter with all the dignity of 
office, having assumed a look of gravity and impor- 
tance suitable to the occasion. 

I was a little surprised, at first, to find honest Slingsby, 
the schoolmaster, rather opposed to his old crony Tib- 
bets, and coming forward as a kind of advocate for the 
accused. It seems that he had taken compassion on the 
forlorn fortunes of Starlight Tom, and had been trying 
his eloquence in his favor the whole way from the vil- 
lage, but without effect. During the examination of 
Eeady-Money Jack, Slingsby had stood like "dejected 
pity at his side," seeking every now and then, by a soft 
word, to soothe any exacerbation of his ire, or to qualify 
any harsh expression. He now ventured to make a few 
observations to the Squire in palliation of the delin- 
quent's offence ; but poor Slingsby spoke more from the 



THE CULPRIT. 425 

heart than the head, and was evidently actuated merely 
by a general sympathy for every poor devil in trouble, 
and a liberal toleration for all kinds of vagabond existence. 

The ladies, too, large and small, with the kind-hearted- 
ness of the sex, were zealous on the side of mercy, and 
interceded strenuously with the Squire; insomuch that 
the prisoner, finding himself unexpectedly surrounded by 
active friends, once more reared his crest, and seemed 
disposed for a time to put on the air of injured inno- 
cence. The Squire, however, with all his benevolence of 
heart, and his lurking weakness towards the prisoner, 
was too conscientious to swerve from the strict path of 
justice. Abundant concurring testimony made the proof 
of guilt incontrovertible, and Starlight Tom's mittimus 
was made out accordingly. 

The sympathy of the ladies was now greater than 
ever ; they even made some attempts to mollify the ire of 
Beady-Money Jack ; but that sturdy potentate had been 
too much incensed by the repeated incursions into his 
territories by the predatory band of Starlight Tom, and 
he was resolved, he said, to drive the "varment reptiles" 
out of the neighborhood. To avoid all further importu- 
nities, as soon as the mittimus was made out, he girded 
up his loins, and strode back to his seat of empire, ac- 
companied by his interceding friend, Slingsby, and fol- 
lowed by a detachment of the gypsy gang, who hung on 
his rear, assailing him with mingled prayers and exe- 
crations. 



426 BBAGEBBIBGE HALL. 

Tlie question now was, liow to dispose of tlie prisoner ; 
a matter of great moment in this peaceful establishment, 
where so formidable a character as Starlight Tom was 
like a hawk entrapped in a dove-cote. As the hubbub 
and examination had occupied a considerable time, it 
was too late in the day to send him to the county prison, 
and that of the village was sadly out of repair, from long 
want of occupation. Old Christy, who took great inter- 
est in the affair, proposed that the culprit should be 
committed for the night to an upper loft of a kind of 
tower in one of the out-houses, where he and the game- 
keeper would mount guard. After much deliberation, 
this measure was adopted; the premises in question 
were examined and made secure, and Christy and his 
trusty ally, the one armed with a fowling-piece, the other 
with an ancient blunderbuss, turned out as sentries to 
keep watch over this donjon-keep. 

Such is the momentous affair that has just taken place, 
and it is an event of too great moment in this quiet little 
world not to turn it completely topsy-turvy. Labor is at 
a stand. The house has been a scene of confusion the 
whole evening. It has been beleaguered by gypsy 
women, with their children on their backs, wailing and 
lamenting ; while the old virago of a mother has cruised 
up and down the lawn in front, shaking her head and 
muttering to herself, or now and then breaking into a 
paroxysm of rage, brandishing her fist at the Hall, and 



THE CTTLPBIT. 427 

denouncing ill luck upon Ready-Money Jack, and even 
upon the Squire liimself. 

Lady Lillycraft has given repeated audiences to the 
culprit's weeping wife, at the Hall-door ; and the servant- 
maids have stolen out to confer with the gypsy women 
under the trees. As to the little ladies of the family, 
they are all outrageous at Eeady-Money Jack, whom 
they look upon in the light of a tyrannical giant of fairy 
tale. Phoebe Wilkins, contrary to her usual nature, is 
the only one pitiless in the affair. She thinks Mr. Tib- 
bets quite in the right ; and thinks the gypsies deserve 
to be punished severely for meddling with the sheep of 
the Tibbetses. 

In the meantime the females of the family evinced all 
the provident kindness of the sex, ever ready to soothe 
and succor the distressed, right or wrong. Lady Lilly- 
craft has had a mattress taken to the out-house, and 
comforts and delicacies of all kinds have been taken to 
the prisoner ; even the little girls have sent their cakes 
and sweetmeats ; so that, I'll warrant, the vagabond has 
never fared so well in his life before. Old Christy, it is 
true, looks upon everything with a wary eye; struts 
about with his blunderbuss with the air of a veteran 
campaigner, and will hardly allow himself to be spoken 
to. The gypsy women dare not come within gunshot, 
and every tatterdemalion of a boy has been frightened 
from the park. The old fellow is determined to lodge 
Starlight Tom in prison with his own hands ; and hopes, 



428 BBACEBRIDGE HALL, 

he says, to see one of the poaching crew made an exam- 
ple of. 

I doubt, after all, whether the worthy Squire is not the 
greatest sufferer in the whole affair. His honorable 
sense of duty obliges him to be rigid, but the overflowing 
kindness of his nature makes this a grievous trial to him. 

He is not accustomed to have such demands upon his 
justice in his truly patriarchal domain; and it wounds 
his benevolent spirit, that, while prosperity and happi- 
ness are flowing in thus bounteously upon him, he 
should have to inflict misery upon a fellow-being. 

He has been troubled and cast down the whole even- 
ing ; took leave of the family, on going to bed, with a 
sigh, instead of his usual hearty and affectionate tone ; 
and will, in all probability, have a far more sleepless 
night than his prisoner. Indeed, this unlucky affair has 
cast a damp upon the whole household, as there appears 
to be a universal opinion that the unlucky culprit will 
come to the gallows. 

Morning. — The clouds of last evening are all blown 
over. A load has been taken from the Squire's heart, 
and every face is once more in smiles. The gamekeeper 
made his appearance at an early hour, completely shame- 
faced and crestfallen. Starlight Tom had made his 
escape in the night ; how he had got out of the loft, no 
one could tell : the Devil, they think, must have assisted 
him. Old Christy was so mortified that he would not 
show his face, but had shut himself up in his strong- 



TEE CULPRIT. 429 

hold at the dog-kennel, and would not be spoken with. 
What has particularly relieved the Squire is, that 
there is very little likelihood of the culprit's being re- 
taken, having gone off on one of the old gentleman's best 
hunters. 



FAMILY MISFOETUNES. 

The niglit has been unruly : where we lay, 
The chimneys were blown down. 

Macbeth. 

E have for a day or two past liad a flaw of un- 
ruly weather, which has intruded itself into 
this fair and flowery month, and for a time 
quite marred the beauty of the landscape. Last night 
the storm attained its crisis; the rain beat in torrents 
against the casements, and the wind piped and blustered 
about the old Hall with quite a wintry vehemence. The 
morning, however, dawned clear and serene ; the face of 
the heavens seemed as if newly washed, and the sun 
shone with a brightness undimmed by a single vapor. 
Nothing overhead gave traces of the recent storm ; but on 
looking from my window I beheld sad ravage among the 
shrubs and flowers ; the garden-walks had formed the 
channels for little torrents ; trees were lopped of their 
branches, and a small silver stream which wound through 
the park, and ran at the bottom of the lawn, had swelled 
into a turbid, yellow sheet of water. 

In an establishment like this, where the mansion is 

430 



FAMILY MISFORTUNES. 43I 

vast, ancient, and somewhat afflicted witli the infirmities 
of age, and where there are numerous and extensive de- 
pendencies, a storm is an event of a very grave nature, 
and brings in its train a multiplicity of cares and dis- 
asters. 

While the Squire was taking his breakfast in the great 
hall, he was continually interrupted by bearers of ill tid- 
ings from some part or other of his domains ; he ap- 
peared to me like the commander of a besieged city, after 
some grand assault, receiving at his headquarters reports 
of damages sustained in the various quarters of the 
place. At one time the housekeeper brought him intelli- 
gence of a chimney blown down, and a desperate leak 
sprung in the roof over the picture-gallery, which threat- 
ened to obliterate a whole generation of his ancestors. 
Then the steward came in with a doleful story of the mis- 
chief done in the woodlands ; while the gamekeeper be- 
moaned the loss of one of his finest bucks, whose bloated 
carcass was seen floating along the swollen current of the 
river. 

When the Squire issued forth, he was accosted, before 
the door, by the old, paralytic gardener, with a face full 
of trouble, reporting, as I supposed, the devastation of 
his flower-beds, and the destruction of his wall-fruit. I 
remarked, however, that his intelligence caused a pecu- 
liar expression of concern not only with the Squire and 
Master Simon, but with the fair Julia and Lady Lilly- 
craft, who happened to be present. From a few words 



432 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

which, reached my ear, I found there was some tale of 
domestic calamity in the case, and that some unfortunate 
family had been rendered houseless by the storm. Many 
ejaculations of pity broke from the ladies ; I heard the 
expressions of " poor helpless beings," and " unfortunate 
little creatures," several times repeated ; to which the old 
gardener replied by very melancholy shakes of the head. 

I felt so interested, that I could not help calling to the 
gardener, as he was retiring, and asking what unfortunate 
family it was that had suffered so severely. The old man 
touched his hat, and gazed at me for an instant, as if 
hardly comprehending my question. " Family ! " replied 
he, " there be no family in the case, your honor ; but here 
have been sad mischief done in the rookery ! " 

I had noticed the day before that the high and gusty 
winds had occasioned great disquiet among these airy 
householders ; their nests being all filled with young, 
who were in danger of being tilted out of their tree- 
rocked cradles. Indeed, the old birds themselves seemed 
to have hard work to maintain a foothold ; some kept 
hovering and cawing in the air ; or if they ventured to 
alight, had to hold fast, flap their wings, and spread their 
tails, and thus remain see-sawing on the topmost twigs. 

In the course of the night, however, an awful calamity 
had taken place in this most sage and politic community. 
There was a great tree, the tallest in the grove, which 
seemed to have been the kind of court-end of the metrop- 
olis, and crowded with the residences of those whom 



FAMILY MISFORTUNES. 433 

Master Simon considers the nobility and gentry. A de- 
cayed limb of this tree had given way with the violence 
of the storm, and came down with all its air-castles. 

One should be well aware of the humors of the good 
Squire and his household, to understand the general con- 
cern expressed at this disaster. It was quite a public 
calamity in this rural empire, and all seemed to feel for 
the poor rooks as for fellow-citizens in distress. 

The ground had been strewed with the callow young, 
which were now cherished in the aprons and bosoms of 
the maid-servants and the little ladies of the family. I 
was pleased with this touch of nature, this feminine sym- 
pathy in the sufferings of the offspring, and the maternal 
anxiety of the parent birds. 

It was interesting, too, to witness the general agitation 
and distress prevalent throughout the feathered commu- 
nity ; the common cause that was made of it ; and the 
incessant hovering, and fluttering, and lamenting, in the 
whole rookery. There is a chord of sympathy that runs 
through the whole feathered race as to any misfortunes 
of the young ; and the cries of a wounded bird in the 
breeding season will throw a whole grove in a flutter and 
an alarm. Indeed, why should I confine it to the feath- 
ered tribe ? Nature has implanted an exquisite sympathy 
on this subject, which extends through all her works. It 
is an invariable attribute of the female heart to melt at 
the cry of early helplessness, and to take an instinctive 
interest in the distresses of the parent and its young. On 
28 



434: BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

the present occasion the ladies of the family were full of 
pity and commiseration ; and I shall never forget the look 
that Lady Lillycraft gave the general, on his observing 
that the young birds would make an excellent curry, or 
an especial good rook-pie. 



LOVEKS' TEOUBLES. 

The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree, 

Sing all a green willow ; 
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 

Sing willow, willow, willow : 
Sing all a green willow must be my garland. 

Old Song. 

HE fair Julia having nearly recovered from the 
effects of her hawking disaster, it begins to be 
thought high time to appoint a day for the 
wedding. As every domestic event in a venerable and 
aristocratic family connection like this is a matter of mo- 
ment, the fixing upon this important day has, of course, 
given rise to much conference and debate. 

Some slight difficulties and demurs have lately sprung 
up, originating in the peculiar humors prevalent at the 
Hall. Thus, I have overheard a very solemn consulta- 
tion between Lady Lillycraft, the parson, and Master Si- 
mon, as to whether the marriage ought not to be post- 
poned until the coming month. 

With all the charms of the flowery month of May, there 
is, I find, an ancient prejudice against it as a marrying 
month. An old proverb says, " To wed in May is to wed 

435 



436 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

poverty." Now, as Lady Lillycraft is very mucli given to 
believe in lucky and unlucky times and seasons, and in- 
deed is very superstitious on all points relating to tlie 
tender passion, this old proverb bas taken great hold 
upon ber mind. Sbe recollects two or tbree instances in 
ber own knowledge of matches that took place in this 
month, and proved very unfortunate. Indeed, an own 
cousin of hers, who married on a May-day, lost her hus- 
band by a fall from his horse, after they had lived hap- 
pily together for twenty years. 

The parson appeared to give great weight to her lady- 
ship's objections, and acknowledged the existence of a 
prejudice of the kind, not merely confined to modern 
times, but prevalent likewise among the ancients. In 
confirmation of this he quoted a passage from Ovid, 
which had a great effect on Lady Lillycraft, being given 
in a language which she did not understand. Even Mas- 
ter Simon was staggered by it; for he listened with a 
puzzled air ; and then, shaking his head, sagaciously ob- 
served, that Ovid was certainly a very wise man. 

From this sage conference I likewise gathered several 
other important pieces of information relative to wed- 
dings ; such as that, if two were celebrated in the same 
church, on the same day, the first would be happy, the 
second unfortunate. If, on going to church, the bridal 
party should meet the funeral of a female, it was an omen 
that the bride would die first; if of a male, the bride- 
groom. If, the newly married couple were to dance to- 



LO VEB8 ' TRO UBLE8. 437 

gether on their wedding-day, the wife would thencefortli 
rule the roast ; with many other curious and unquestion- 
able facts of the same nature : all which made me ponder 
more than ever upon the perils which surround this 
happy state, and the thoughtless ignorance of mortals as 
to the awful risk they run in venturing upon it. I ab- 
stain, however, from enlarging upon this topic, having no 
inclination to promote the increase of bachelors. 

Notwithstanding the due weight which the Squire 
gives to traditional saws and ancient opinions, I am 
happy to find that he makes a firm stand for the credit of 
this loving month, and brings to his aid a whole legion 
of poetical authorities ; all which, I presume, have been 
conclusive with the young couple, as I understand they 
are perfectly willing to marry in May, and abide the con- 
sequences. In a few days, therefore, the wedding is to 
take place, and the Hall is in a buzz of anticipation. The 
housekeeper is bustling about from morning till night, 
with a look full of business and importance, having a 
thousand arrangements to make, the Squire intending to 
keep open house on the occasion ; and as to the house- 
maids, you cannot look one of them in the face, but the 
rogue begins to color up and simper. 

While, however, this leading love-affair is going on 
with a tranquillity quite inconsistent with the rules of ro- 
mance, I cannot say that the underplots are equally pro- 
pitious. The " opening bud of love " between the general 
and Lady Lillycraft seems to have experienced some 



438 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

blight in the course of this genial season. I do not think 
the general has ever been able to retrieve the ground he 
lost when he fell asleep during the captain's story. In- 
deed, Master Simon thinks his case is completely des- 
perate, her ladyship having determined that he is quite 
destitute of sentiment. 

The season has been equally unpropitious to the love- 
lorn Phoebe Wilkins. I fear the reader will be impatient 
at having this humble amour so often alluded to ; but I 
confess I am apt to take a great interest in the love- 
troubles of simple girls of this class. Few people have 
an idea of the world of care and perplexity these poor 
damsels have in managing the affairs of the heart. 

We talk and write about the tender passion ; we give 
it all the colorings of sentiment and romance, and lay the 
scene of its influence in high life ; but, after all, I doubt 
whether its sway is not more absolute among females of 
an humbler sphere. How often, could we but look into 
the heart, should we find the sentiment throbbing in all 
its violence, in the bosom of the poor lady's-maid, rather 
than in that of the brilliant beauty she is decking out 
for conquest ; whose brain is probably bewildered with 
beaux, ball-rooms, and wax-light chandeliers. 

With these humble beings love is an honest, engrossing 
concern. They have no ideas of settlements, establish- 
ments, equipages, and pin-money. The heart — the heart 
is all-in-all with them, poor things ! There is seldom 
one of them but has her love-cares, and love-secrets ; her 



LOVEES' TROUBLES. 439 

doubts, and hopes, and fears, are equal to those of any 
heroine of romance, and ten times as sincere. And then, 
too, there is her secret hoard of love-documents; — the 
broken sixpence, the gilded brooch, the lock of hair, the 
unintelligible love scrawl, all treasured up in her box of 
Sunday finery, for private contemplation. 

How many crosses and trials is she exposed to from 
some lynx-eyed dame, or staid old vestal of a mistress, 
who keeps a dragon watch over her virtue, and scouts 
the lover from the door. But then, how sweet are the 
little love-scenes, snatched at distant intervals of holiday, 
and fondly dwelt on through many a long day of house- 
hold labor and confinement ! If in the country — it is the 
dance at the fair or wake, the interview in the church- 
yard after service, or the evening stroll in the green lane. 
If in town, it is perhaps merely a stolen moment of de- 
licious talk between the bars of the area, fearful every 
instant of being seen ; and then, how lightly will the sim- 
ple creature carol all day afterwards at her labor ! 

Poor baggage ! after all her crosses and difficulties, 
when she marries, what is it but to exchange a life of 
comparative ease and comfort for one of toil and uncer- 
tainty ? Perhaps, too, the lover for whom in the fond- 
ness of her nature she has committed herself to fortune's 
freaks, turns out a worthless churl, the dissolute, hard- 
hearted husband of low life ; who, taking to the ale- 
house, leaves her to a cheerless home, to labor, penury, 
and childbearing. 



440 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

When I see poor Phoebe going about witli drooping 
eye, and her head hanging " all o' one side," I cannot 
help calling to mind the pathetic little picture drawn by 
Desdemona : — 

"My mother had a maid called Barbara; 
She was in love ; and he she loved proved mad, 
And did forsake her ; she had a song of wUlow, 
An old thing 't was ; but it express'd her fortune, 
And she died singing it." 

I hope, however, that a better lot is in reserve for 
Phoebe Wilkins, and that she may yet " rule the roast " 
in the ancient empire of the Tibbetses ! She is not fit to 
battle with hard hearts or hard times. She was, I am 
told, the pet of her poor mother, who was proud of the 
beauty of her child, and brought her up more tenderly 
than a village girl ought to be ; and ever since she has 
been left an orphan, the good ladies of the Hall have 
completed the softening and spoiling of her. 

I have recently observed her holding long conferences 
in the church-yard, and up and down one of the lanes 
near the village, with Slingsby the schoolmaster. I at 
first thought the pedagogue might be touched with the 
tender malady so prevalent in these parts of late ; but I 
did him injustice. Honest Slingsby, it seems, was a 
friend and crony of her late father, the parish clerk ; and 
is on intimate terms with the Tibbets family : prompted, 
therefore, by his good-will towards all parties, and 



L0YEB8' TROUBLES. 44I 

secretly instigated, perhaps, by tlie managing dame Tib- 
bets, lie has undertaken to talk with Phoebe upon the 
subject. He gives her, however, but little encourage- 
ment. Slingsby has a formidable opinion of the aristo- 
cratical feeling of old Ready-Money, and thinks, if Phoebe 
were even to make the matter up with the son, she would 
find the father totally hostile to the match. The poor 
damsel, therefore, is reduced almost to despair ; and 
Slingsby, who is too good-natured not to sympathize in 
her distress, has advised her to give up all thoughts of 
young Jack, and has proposed as a substitute his learned 
coadjutor, the prodigal son. He has even, in the fulness 
of his heart, offered to give up the school-house to them ; 
though it would leave him once more adrift in the wide 
world. 




THE HISTOEIAN. 

Hermione, Pray you sit by us, 

And tell's a tale. 

Mamilius. Merry or sad shall't be ? 

Hermione. As merry as you will. 

Mamilius. A sad tale's best for winter. 

I have one of sprites and goblins. 

Hermione. Let's have that, sir. 

Winter's Tale. 

S tliis is a story-telling age, I have been tempted 
occasionally to give the reader one of the many 
tales served up with supper at the Hall. I 
might, indeed, have furnished a series almost equal in 
number to the "Arabian Nights"; but some were rather 
hackneyed and tedious ; others I did not feel warranted 
in betraying into print ; and many more were of the old 
general's relating, and turned principally upon tiger- 
hunting, elephant-riding, and Seringapatam, enlivened by 
the wonderful deeds of Tippoo Saib, and the excellent 
jokes of Major Pendergast. 

I had all along maintained a quiet post at a corner of 
the table, where I had been able to indulge my humor 
undisturbed; listening attentively when the story was 
very good, and dozing a little when it was rather dull, 
which I consider the perfection of auditorship. 

443 



TEE HISTORIAN. 443 

I was roused tlie other evening from a slight trance, 
into which I had fallen during one of the general's histo- 
ries, by a sudden call from the Squire to furnish some 
entertainment of the kind in my turn. Having been so 
profound a listener to others, I could not in conscience 
refuse; but neither my memory nor invention being 
ready to answer so unexpected a demand, I begged leave 
to read a manuscript tale from the pen of my fellow- 
countryman, the late Mr. Diedrich Knickerbocker, the 
historian of New York. As this ancient chronicler may 
not be better known to my readers than he was to the 
company at the Hall, a word or two concerning him may 
not be amiss, before proceeding to his manuscript. 

Diedrich Knickerbocker was a native of New York, a 
descendant from one of the ancient Dutch families which 
originally settled that province, and remained there after 
it was taken possession of by the English in 1664 The 
descendants of these Dutch families still remain in vil- 
lages and neighborhoods in various parts of the country, 
retaining, with singular obstinacy, the dresses, manners, 
and even language of their ancestors, and forming a very 
distinct and curious feature in the motley population of 
the State. In a hamlet whose spire may be seen from 
New York, rising from above the brow of a hill on the 
opposite side of the Hudson, many of the old folks, even 
at the present day, speak English with an accent, and 
the Dominie preaches in Dutch ; and so completely is 
the hereditary love of quiet and silence maintained, that 



444 BBACEBRIDOE HALL. 

in one of tliese drowsy villages, in tlie middle of a warm 
summer's day, tlie buzzing of a stout blue-bottle fly will 
resound from one end of tlie place to tlie otlier. 

Witli the laudable hereditary feeling tlius kept up 
among tliese worthy people, did Mr. Knickerbocker un- 
dertake to write a history of his native city, comprising 
the reign of its three Dutch governors during the time 
that it was yet under the domination of the Hogenmogens 
of Holland. In the execution of this design the little 
Dutchman has displayed great historical research, and a 
wonderful consciousness of the dignity of his subject. 
His work, however, has been so little understood as to be 
pronounced a mere work of humor, satirizing the follies of 
the times, both in politics and morals, and giving whim- 
sical views of human nature. 

Be this as it may : — among the papers left behind him 
were several tales of a lighter nature, apparently thrown 
togetlier from materials gathered during his profound 
researches for his history, and which he seems to have 
cast by with neglect, as unworthy of publication. Some 
of these have fallen into my hands by an accident which it 
is needless at present to mention ; and one of these very 
stories, with its prelude in the words of Mr. Knicker- 
bocker, I undertook to read, by way of acquitting my- 
self of the debt which I owed to the other story-tellers at 
the Hall. I subjoin it for such of my readers as are fond 
of stories. 



1/ 




THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

FROM THE MSS. OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER. 

Formerly almost every place had a house of this kind. If a house was 
seated on some melancholy place, or built in some old romantic manner, or 
if any particular accident had happened in it, such as murder, sudden death, 
or the like, to be sure that house had a mark set on it, and was afterwards 
esteemed the habitation of a ghost.— Bourne's Antiquities. 

N the neighborliood of the ancient city of the 
Manhattoes there stood, not very many years 
since, an old mansion, which, when I was a boy, 
went by the name of the Haunted House. It was one of 
the very few remains of the architecture of the early 
Dutch settlers, and must have been a house of some con- 
sequence at the time when it was built. It consisted of a 
centre and two wings, the gable ends of which were 
shaped like stairs. It was built partly of wood, and 
partly of small Dutch bricks, such as the worthy colo- 
nists brought with them from Holland, before they dis- 
covered that bricks could be manufactured elsewhere. 
The house stood remote from the road, in the centre of a 
large field, with an avenue of old locust* trees leading up 

* Acacias. 

445 



446 BRACEBRIDQE HALL. 

to it, several of which had been shivered by lightning, 
and two or three blown down. A few apple-trees grew 
straggling about the field ; there were traces also of what 
had been a kitchen-garden ; but the fences were broken 
down, the vegetables had disappeared, or had grown wild, 
and turned to little better than weeds, with here and 
there a ragged rose-bush, or a tall sunflower shooting up 
from among the brambles, and hanging its head sorrow- 
fully, as if contemplating the surrounding desolation. 
Part of the roof of the old house had fallen in, the win- 
dows were shattered, the panels of the doors broken, and 
mended with rough boards, and two rusty weather-cocks 
at the ends of the house made a great jingling and whist- 
ling as they whirled about, but always pointed wrong. 
The appearance of the whole place was forlorn and deso- 
late at the best of times ; but, in unruly weather, the 
howling of the wind about the crazy old mansion, the 
screeching of the weather-cocks, and the slamming and 
banging of a few loose window-shutters, had altogether 
so wild and dreary an effect, that the neighborhood stood 
perfectly in awe of the place, and pronounced it the ren- 
dezvous of hobgoblins. I recollect the old building well ; 
for many times, when an idle, unlucky urchin, I have 
prowled round its precinct, with some of my graceless 
companions, on holiday afternoons, when out on a free- 
booting cruise among the orchards. There was a tree 
standing near the house that bore the most beautiful and 
tempting fruit ; but then it was on enchanted ground, for 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 447 

the place was so cliarmed by frightful stories that we 
dreaded to approach it. Sometimes we would venture in 
a body, and get near the Hesperian tree, keeping an eye 
upon the old mansion, and darting fearful glances into its 
shattered windows, when, just as we were about to seize 
upon our prize, an exclamation from some one of the 
gang, or an accidental noise, would throw us all into a 
panic, and we would scamper headlong from the place, 
nor stop until we had got quite into the road. Then 
there was sure to be a host of fearful anecdotes told of 
strange cries and groans, or of some hideous face sudden- 
ly seen staring out of one of the windows. By degrees 
we ceased to venture into these lonely grounds, but would 
stand at a distance, and throw stones at the building ; 
and there was something fearfully pleasing in the sound 
as they rattled along the roof, or sometimes struck some 
jingling fragments of glass out of the windows. 

The origin of this house was lost in the obscurity that 
covers the early period of the province, while under the 
government of their high mightinesses the states-gen- 
eral. Some reported it to have been a country residence 
of Wilhelmus Kieft, commonly called the Testy, one of 
the Dutch governors of New Amsterdam ; others said it 
had been built by a naval commander who served under 
Van Tromp, and who, on being disappointed of prefer- 
ment, retired from the service in disgust, became a phi- 
losopher through sheer spite, and brought over all his 
wealth to the province, that he might live according to 



44:8 BBAGEBBIDQE HALL. 

his liumor, and despise tlie world. Tlie reason of its 
having fallen to decay was likewise a matter of dispute ; 
some said it was in chancery, and had already cost more 
than its worth in legal expense ; but the most current, 
and, of course, the most probable account, was that it was 
haunted, and that nobody could live quietly in it. There 
can, in fact, be very little doubt that this last was the 
case, there were so many corroborating stories to prove 
it, — not an old woman in the neighborhood but could fur- 
nish at least a score. A grayheaded curmudgeon of a 
negro who lived hard by had a whole budget of them to 
tell, many of which had happened to himself. I recollect 
many a time stopping with my schoolmates, and getting 
him to relate some. The old crone lived in a hovel, in 
the midst of a small patch of potatoes and Indian corn, 
which his master had given him on setting him free. He 
would come to us, with his hoe in his hand, and as we sat 
perched, like a row of swallows, on the rail of a fence, in 
the mellow twilight of a summer evening, would tell us 
such fearful stories, accompanied by such awful rollings 
of his white eyes, that we were almost afraid of our own 
footsteps as we returned home afterwards in the dark. 

Poor old Pompey ! many years are past since he died, 
and went to keep company with the ghosts he was so 
fond of talking about. He was buried in a corner of his 
own little potato patch ; the plough soon passed over his 
grave, and levelled it with the rest of the field, and no- 
body thought any more of the grayheaded negro. By 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 449 

singular cliaiice I was strolling in that neighborliood, 
several years afterwards, when I had grown up to be a 
young man, and I found a knot of gossips speculating on 
a skull which had just been turned up by a ploughshare. 
They of course determined it to be the remains of some 
one who had been murdered, and they had raked up with 
it some of the traditionary tales of the haunted house. I 
knew it at once to be the relic of poor Pompey, but I 
held my tongue ; for I am too considerate of other peo- 
ple's enjoyment even to mar a story of a ghost or a mur- 
der. I took care, however, to see the bones of my old 
friend once more buried in a place where they were not 
likely to be disturbed. As I sat on the turf and watched 
the interment, I fell into a long conversation with an old 
gentleman of the neighborhood, John Josse Vander- 
moere, a pleasant gossiping man, whose whole life was 
spent in hearing and telling the news of the province. 
He recollected old Pompey, and his stories about the 
Haunted House ; but he assured me he could give me one 
still more strange than any that Pompey had related; 
and on my expressing a great curiosity to hear it, he sat 
down beside me on the turf, and told the following tale. 
I have endeavored to give it as nearly as possible in his 
words ; but it is now many years since, and I am grown 
old, and my memory is not over-good. I cannot there- 
fore vouch for the language, but I am always scrupulous 
as to facts. 

D. K. 
29 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

'I take the town of concord, where I dwell, 
All Kilborn be my witness, if I were not 
Begot in bashfulness, brought up in shamefacedness. 
Let 'un bring a dog but to my vace that can 
Zay I have beat 'un, and without a vault ; 
Or but a cat will swear upon a book, 
I have as much as zet a vire her tail, 
And I'll give him or her a crown for 'mends." 

Tale of a Tub. 

N the early time of the province of New York, 
while it groaned under the tyranny of the Eng- 
lish governor, Lord Cornbury, who carried his 
cruelties towards the Dutch inhabitants so far as to al- 
low no Dominie, or schoolmaster, to officiate in their lan- 
guage without his special license ; about this time there 
lived in the jolly little old city of the Manhattoes a kind 
motherly dame, known by the name of Dame Heyliger. 
She was the widow of a Dutch sea-captain, who died 
suddenly of a fever, in consequence of working too 
hard, and eating too heartily, at the time when all the 
inhabitants turned out in a panic, to fortify the place 
against the invasion of a small French privateer.* He 




1705. 



450 



DOLPH HETLIGEB. 451 

left lier witli very little money, and one infant son, tlie 
only survivor of several children. The good woman had 
need of much management to make both ends meet, and 
keep up a decent appearance. However, as her husband 
had fallen a victim to his zeal for the public safety, it 
was universally agreed that " something ought to be 
done for the widow " ; and on the hopes of this " some- 
thing " she lived tolerably for some years ; in the mean- 
time everybody pitied and spoke well of her, and that 
helped along. 

She lived in a small house, in a small street, called 
Garden Street, very probably from a garden which may 
have flourished there some time or other. As her neces- 
sities every year grew greater, and the talk of the public 
about doing " something for her " grew less, she had to 
cast about for some mode of doing something for herself, 
by way of helping out her slender means, and maintaining 
her independence, of which she was somewhat tenacious. 

Living in a mercantile town, she had caught some- 
thing of the spirit, and determined to venture a little in 
the great lottery of commerce. On a sudden, therefore, 
to the great surprise of the street, there appeared at her 
window a grand array of gingerbread kings and queens, 
with their arms stuck akimbo, after the invariable royal 
manner. There were also several broken tumblers, some 
filled with sugar-plums, some with marbles ; there were, 
moreover, cakes of various kinds, and barley-sugar, and 
Holland dolls, and wooden horses, with here and there 



452 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

gilt-covered picture-books, and now and then a skein of 
thread, or a dangling pound of candles. At the door of 
the house sat the good old dame's cat, a decent demure- 
looking personage, who seemed to scan everybody that 
passed, to criticize their dress, and now and then to 
stretch her neck, and to look out with sudden curiosity, 
to see what was going on at the other end of the street ; 
but if by chance any idle vagabond dog came by, and of- 
fered to be uncivil — hoity-toity ! — how she would bristle 
up, and growl, and spit, and strike out her paws! she 
was as indignant as ever was an ancient and ugly spin- 
ster on the approach of some graceless profligate. 

But though the good woman had to come down to 
those humble means of subsistence, yet she still kept up 
a feeling of family pride, being descended from the Van- 
derspiegels, of Amsterdam ; and she had the family arms 
painted and framed, and hung over her mantelpiece. 
She was, in truth, much respected by all the poorer peo- 
ple of the place ; her house was quite a resort of the old 
wives of the neighborhood ; they would drop in there of 
a winter's afternoon, as she sat knitting on one side of 
her fireplace, her cat purring on the other, and the tea- 
kettle singing before it ; and they would gossip with her 
until late in the evening. There was always an arm-chair 
for Peter de Groodt, sometimes called Long Peter, and 
sometimes Peter Longlegs, the clerk and sexton of the 
little Lutheran church, who was her great crony, and in- 
deed the oracle of her fireside. Nay, the Dominie him- 



DOLPH HETLIGEB. 453 

self did not disdain, now and then, to step in, converse 
about the state of her mind, and take a glass of her 
special good cherry-brandy. Indeed, he never failed to 
call on New-Year's day, and wish her a happy New Year ; 
and the good dame, who was a little vain on some points, 
always piqued herself on giving him as large a cake as 
any one in town. 

I have said that she had one son. He was the child of 
her old age ; but could hardly be called the comfort, for, 
of all unlucky urchins, Dolph Heyliger was the most mis- 
chievous. Not that the whipster was really vicious ; he 
was only full of fun and frolic, and had that daring, game- 
some spirit which is extolled in a rich man's child, but 
execrated in a poor man's. He was continually getting 
into scrapes ; his mother was incessantly harassed with 
complaints of some waggish pranks which he had played 
off ; bills were sent in for windows that he had broken ; 
in a word, he had not reached his fourteenth year before 
he was pronounced, by all the neighborhood, to be a 
" wicked dog, the wickedest dog in the street ! " Nay, 
one old gentleman, in a claret-colored coat, with a thin 
red face, and ferret eyes, went so far as to assure Dame 
Heyliger, that her son would, one day or other, come to 
the gallows ! 

Yet, notwithstanding all this, the poor old soul loved 
her boy. It seemed as though she loved him the better 
the worse he behaved, and that he grew more in her favor 
the more he grew out of favor with the world. Mothers 



454 BBACEBBIDQE HALL. 

are foolisli, fond-liearted beings; there s no reasoning 
tliem out of their dotage ; and, indeed, this poor woman's 
child was all that was left to love her in this world ; — 
so we must not think it hard that she turned a deaf ear 
to her good friends, who sought to prove to her that 
Dolph would come to a halter. 

To do the varlet justice, too, he was strongly attached 
to his parent. He would not willingly have given her 
pain on any account; and when he had been doing 
wrong, it was but for him to catch his poor mother's eye 
fixed wistfully and sorrowfully upon him, to fill his heart 
with bitterness and contrition. But he was a heedless 
youngster, and could not, for the life of him, resist any 
new temptation to fun and mischief. Though quick at 
his learning, whenever he could be brought to apply him- 
self, he was always prone to be led away by idle com- 
pany, and would play truant to hunt after birds'-nests, to 
rob orchards, or to swim in the Hudson. 

In this way he grew up, a tall, lubberly boy ; and his 
mother began to be greatly perplexed what to do with 
him, or how to put him in a way to do for himself ; for 
he had acquired such an unlucky reputation, that no one 
seemed willing to employ him. 

Many were the consultations that she held with Peter 
de Groodt, the clerk and sexton, who was her prime coun- 
sellor. Peter was as much perplexed as herself, for he 
had no great opinion of the boy, and thought he would 
never come to good. He at once advised her to send him 



DOLPE EETLIOER. 455 

to sea : a piece of advice only given in the most desperate 
cases; but Dame Heyliger would not listen to sucli an 
idea ; she could not think of letting Dolph go out of her 
sight. She was sitting one day knitting by her fireside, 
in great perplexity, when the sexton entered with an air 
of unusual vivacity and briskness. He had just come 
from a funeral. It had been that of a boy of Dolph's 
years, who had been apprentice to a famous German doc- 
tor, and had died of a consumption. It is true, there had 
been a whisper that the deceased had been brought to 
his end by being made the subject of the doctor's experi- 
ments, on which he was apt to try the effects of a new 
compound, or a quieting draught. This, however, it is 
likely, was a mere scandal ; at any rate, Peter de Groodt 
did not think it worth mentioning ; though, had we time 
to philosophize, it would be a curious matter for specula- 
tion, why a doctor's family is apt to be so lean and cadav- 
erous, and a butcher's so jolly and rubicund. 

Peter de Groodt, as I said before, entered the house of 
Dame Heyliger with unusual alacrity. A bright idea had 
popped into his head at the funeral, over which he had 
chuckled as he shovelled the earth into the grave of the 
doctor's disciple. It had occurred to him, that, as the 
situation of the deceased was vacant at the doctor's, it 
would be the very place for Dolph. The boy had parts, 
and could pound a pestle, and run an errand with any boy 
in the town ; and what more was wanted in a student ? 

The suggestion of the sage Peter was a vision of glory 



456 BBACEBRIBGE HALL. 

to the mother. She already saw Dolph, in her mind's 
eye, with a cane at his nose, a knocker at his door, and 
an M. D. at the end of his name, — one of the established 
dignitaries of the town. 

The matter, once undertaken, was soon effected; the 
sexton had some influence with the doctor, they having 
had much dealing together in the way of their separate 
professions ; and the very next morning he called and 
conducted the urchin, clad in his Sunday clothes, to 
undergo the inspection of Dr. Karl Lodovick Knipper- 
hausen. 

They found the doctor seated in an elbow-chair, in one 
corner of his study, or laboratory, with a large volume, in 
German print, before him. He was a short fat man, with 
a dark square face, rendered more dark by a black velvet 
cap. He had a little nobbed nose, not unlike the ace of 
spades, with a pair of spectacles gleaming on each side 
of his dusky countenance, like a couple of bow- windows. 

Dolph felt struck with awe on entering into the pres- 
ence of this learned man; and gazed about him with 
boyish wonder at the furniture of this chamber of knowl- 
edge ; which appeared to him almost as the den of a ma- 
gician. In the centre stood a claw-footed table, with 
pestle and mortar, phials and gallipots, and a pair of 
small burnished scales. At one end was a heavy clothes- 
press, turned into a receptacle for drugs and compounds ; 
against which hung the doctor's hat and cloak, and gold- 
headed canej and on the top grinned a human skull. 



DOLPH EEYLIGEB. 457 

Along tlie mantelpiece were glass vessels, in wMcli were 
snakes and lizards, and a liuman fcBtus preserved in 
spirits. A closet, the doors of which were taken off, con- 
tained three whole shelves of books, and some, too, of 
mighty folio dimensions, — a collection the like of which 
Dolph had never before beheld. As, however, the library- 
did not take up the whole of the closet, the doctor's 
thrifty housekeeper had occupied the rest with pots of 
pickles and preserves; and had hung about the room, 
among awful implements of the healing art, strings of red 
pepper and corpulent cucumbers, carefully preserved for 
seed. 

Peter de Groodt and his protege were received with 
great gravity and stateliness by the doctor, who was a 
very wise, dignified little man, and never smiled. He 
surveyed Dolph from head to foot, above, and under, and 
through his spectacles, and the poor lad's heart quailed 
as these great glasses glared on him like two full moons. 
The doctor heard all that Peter de Groodt had to say in 
favor of the youthful candidate ; and then wetting his 
thumb with the end of his tongue, he began deliberately 
to turn over page after page of the great black volume 
before him. At length, after many hums and haws, and 
strokings of the chin, and all that hesitation and deliber- 
ation with which a wise man proceeds to do what he in- 
tended to do from the very first, the doctor agreed to 
take the lad as a disciple ; to give him bed, board, and 
clothing, and to instruct him in the healing art ; in return 



458 BBACEBBIBGE HALL. 

for wliicli he was to have his services until his twenty- 
first year. 

Behold, then, our hero, all at once transformed from an 
unlucky urchin running wild about the streets, to a stu- 
dent of medicine, diligently pounding a pestle, under the 
auspices of the learned Doctor Karl Lodovick Knipper- 
hausen. It was a happy transition for his fond old 
mother. She was delighted with the idea of her boy's 
being brought up worthy of his ancestors ; and antici- 
pated the day when he would be able to hold up his 
head with the lawyer, that lived in the large house oppo- 
site ; or, peradventure, with the Dominie himself. 

Doctor Knipperhausen was a native of the Palatinate 
in Germany; whence, in company with many of his 
countrymen, he had taken refuge in England, on account 
of religious persecution. He was one of nearly three 
thousand Palatines, who came over from England in 
1710, under the protection of Governor Hunter. Where 
the doctor had studied, how he had acquired his medical 
knowledge, and where he had received his diploma, it is 
hard at present to say, for nobody knew at the time ; yet 
it is certain that his profound skill and abstruse knowl- 
edge were the talk and wonder of the common people, 
far and near. 

His practice was totally different from that of any 
other physician, — consisting in mysterious compounds, 
known only to himself, in the preparing and administer- 
ing of which, it was said, he always consulted the stars. 



DOLPH EEYLIGEB. 459 

So high an opinion was entertained of his skill, particu- 
larly by the German and Dutch inhabitants, that they 
always resorted to him in desperate cases. He was one 
of those infallible doctors that are always effecting sud- 
den and surprising cures, when the patient has been 
given up by all the regular physicians; unless, as is 
shrewdly observed, the case has been left too long before 
it was put into their hands. The doctor's library was 
the talk and marvel of the neighborhood, I might almost 
say of the entire burgh. The good people looked with 
reverence at a man who had read three whole shelves 
full of books, and some of them, too, as large as a family 
Bible. There were many disputes among the members 
of the little Lutheran church, as to which was the wisest 
man, the doctor or the Dominie. Some of his admirers 
even went so far as to say, that he knew more than the 
governor himself, — in a word, it was thought that there 
was no end to his knowledge ! 

No sooner was Dolph received into the doctor's family, 
than he was put in possession of the lodging of his pre- 
decessor. It was a garret-room of a steep-roofed Dutch 
house, where the rain had pattered on the shingles, and 
the lightning gleamed, and the wind piped through the 
crannies in stormy weather ; and where whole troops of 
hungry rats, like Don Cossacks, galloped about, in defi- 
ance of traps and ratsbane. 

He was soon up to his ears in medical studies, being 
employed, morning, noon, and night, in rolling pills, fil- 



460 BBAOEBBIDGE HALL. 

tering tinctures, or pounding the pestle and mortar in 
one corner of the laboratory; while the doctor would 
take his seat in another corner, when he had nothing else 
to do, or expected visitors, and arrayed in his morning- 
gown and velvet cap, would pore over the contents of 
some folio volume. It is true, that the regular thump- 
ing of Dolph's pestle, or, perhaps, the drowsy buzz- 
ing of the summer-flies, would now and then lull the 
little man into a slumber; but then his spectacles 
were always wide awake, and studiously regarding the 
book. 

There was another personage in the house, however, 
to whom Dolph was obliged to pay allegiance. Though 
a bachelor, and a man of such great dignity and impor- 
tance, the doctor was, like many other wise men, subject 
to petticoat government. He was completely under the 
sway of his housekeeper, — a spare, busy, fretting house- 
wife, in a little, round, quilted German cap, with a huge 
bunch of keys jingling at the girdle of an exceedingly 
long waist. Frau Use (or Frow Hsy, as it was pro- 
nounced) had accompanied him in his various migrations 
from Germany to England, and from England to the 
province ; managing his establishment and himself too : 
ruling him, it is true, with a gentle hand, but carrying a 
high hand with all the world beside. How she had ac- 
quired such ascendency I do not pretend to say. People, 
it is true, did talk — ^but have not people been prone to 
talk ever sjnce the world began? Who can tell how 



B0LP3 EE7LIGEB. 461 

women generally contrive to get the upperhand ? A hus- 
band, it is true, may now and then be master in his own 
house ; but who ever knew a bachelor that was not man- 
aged by his housekeeper ? 

Indeed, Erau Ilsy's power was not confined to the doc- 
tor's household. She was one of those prying gossips 
who know every one's business better than they do them- 
selves; and whose all-seeing eyes, and all-telling tongues, 
are terrors throughout a neighborhood. 

Nothing of any moment transpired in the world of 
scandal of this little burgh, but it was known to Frau 
Ilsy. She had her crew of cronies, that were perpetually 
hurrying to her little parlor with some precious bit of 
news ; nay, she would sometimes discuss a whole volume 
of secret history, as she held the street-door ajar, and 
gossiped with one of these garrulous cronies in the very 
teeth of a December blast. 

Between the doctor and the housekeeper it may easily 
be supposed that Dolph had a busy life of it. As Frau 
Ilsy kept the keys, and literally ruled the roast, it was 
starvation to offend her, though he found the study of 
her temper more perplexing even than that of medicine. 
When not busy in the laboratory, she kept him running 
hither and thither on her errands; and on Sundays he 
was obliged to accompany her to and from church, and 
carry her Bible. Many a time has the poor varlet stood 
shivering and blowing his fingers, or holding his frost- 
bitten nose, in the church-yard, while Ilsy and her cro- 



462 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

nies were huddled together, wagging their heads, and 
tearing some unlucky character to pieces. 

With all his advantages, however, Dolph made very 
slow progress in his art. This was no fault of the doc- 
tor's, certainly, for he took unwearied pains with the lad, 
keeping him close to the pestle and mortar, or on the trot 
about town with phials and pill-boxes ; and if he ever 
flagged in his industry, which he was rather apt to do, 
the doctor would fly into a passion, and ask him if he 
ever expected to learn his profession, unless he applied 
himself closer to the study. The fact is, he still retained 
the fondness for sport and mischief that had marked his 
childhood ; the habit, indeed, had strengthened with his 
years, and gained force from being thwarted and con- 
strained. He daily grew more and more untractable, and 
lost favor in the eyes, both of the doctor and the house- 
keeper. 

In the meantime the doctor went on, waxing wealthy 
and renowned. He was famous for his skill in managing 
cases not laid down in the books. He had cured several 
old women and young girls of witchcraft, — a terrible com- 
plaint, and nearly as prevalent in the province in those 
days as hydrophobia is at present. He had even re- 
stored one strapping country-girl to perfect health, who 
had gone so far as to vomit crooked pins and needles ; 
which is considered a desperate stage of the malady. It 
was whispered, also, that he was possessed of the art of 
preparing love-powders ; and many applications had he 



BOLPH HEYLIGEB. 453 

in consequence from love-sick patients of both sexes. 
But all these cases formed the mysterious part of his 
practice, in which, according to the cant phrase, " secrecy 
and honor might be depended on." Dolph, therefore, 
was obliged to turn out of the study whenever such con- 
sultations occurred, though it is said he learnt more of 
the secrets of the art at the key-hole than by all the rest 
of his studies put together. 

As the doctor increased in wealth, he began to extend 
his possessions, and to look forward, like other great 
men, to the time when he should retire io the repose of a 
country-seat. For this purpose he had purchased a farm, 
or, as the Dutch settlers called it, a lowerie, a few miles 
from town. It had been the residence of a wealthy fam- 
ily, that had returned some time since to Holland. A 
large mansion-house stood in the centre of it, very much 
out of repair, and which, in consequence of certain re- 
ports, had received the appellation of the Haunted 
House. Either from these reports, or from its actual 
dreariness, the doctor found it impossible to get a tenant ; 
and that the place might not fall to ruin before he could 
reside in it himself, he placed a country boor, with his 
family, in one wing, with the privilege of cultivating the 
farm on shares. 

The doctor now felt all the dignity of a landholder ris- 
ing within him. He had a little of the German pride of 
territory in his composition, and almost looked upon 
himself as owner of a principality. He began to com- 



464 BBAGEBRIDOE HALL. 

plain of the fatigue of business ; and was fond of riding 
out " to look at Ms estate." His little expeditions to his 
lands were attended with a bustle and parade that cre- 
ated a sensation throughout the neighborhood. His wall- 
eyed horse stood, stamping and whisking off the flies, for 
a full hour before the house. Then the doctor's saddle- 
bags would be brought out and adjusted ; then, after a 
little while, his cloak would be rolled up and strapped to 
the saddle ; then his umbrella would be buttoned to the 
cloak ; while, in the meantime, a group of ragged boys, 
that observant class of beings, would gather before the 
door. At length the doctor would issue forth, in a pair 
of jack-boots that reached above his knees, and a cocked 
hat flapped down in front. As he was a short, fat man, 
he took some time to mount into the saddle ; and when 
there, he took some time to have the saddle and stirrups 
properly adjusted, enjoying the wonder and admiration 
of the urchin crowd. Even after he had set off, he would 
pause in the middle of the street, or trot back two or 
three times to give some parting orders ; which were an- 
swered by the housekeeper from the door, or Dolph from 
the study, or the black cook from the cellar, or the cham- 
bermaid from the garret- window ; and there were gener- 
ally some last words bawled after him, just as he was 
turning the corner. 

The whole neighborhood would be aroused by this 
pomp and circumstance. The cobbler would leave his 
last ; the barber would thrust out his frizzled head, with 



DOLPE EEYLIGEB. 465 

a comb sticking in it ; a knot would collect at the gro- 
cer's door, and the word would be buzzed from one end 
of the street to the other, " The doctor's riding out to his 
country-seat ! " 

These were golden moments for Dolph. No sooner 
was the doctor out of sight, than pestle and mortar were 
abandoned ; the laboratory was left to take care of itself, 
and the student was off on some madcap frolic. 

Indeed, it must be confessed, the youngster, as he 
grew up, seemed in a fair way to fulfil the prediction of 
the old claret-colored gentleman. He was the ringleader 
of all holiday sports and midnight gambols; ready for 
all kinds of mischievous pranks and hair-brained adven- 
tures. 

There is nothing so troublesome as a hero on a small 
scale, or, rather, a hero in a small town. Dolph soon 
became the abhorrence of all drowsy, housekeeping old 
citizens, who hated noise, and had no relish for waggery. 
The good dames, too, considered him as little better than 
a reprobate, gathered their daughters under their wings 
whenever he approached, and pointed him out as a warn- 
ing to their sons. No one seemed to hold him in much 
regard except the wild striplings of the place, who were 
captivated by his open-hearted, daring manners, — and 
the negroes, who always looked upon every idle, do- 
nothing youngster as a kind of gentleman. Even the 
good Peter de Groodt, who had considered himself a 
kind of patron of the lad, began to despair of him ; and 
30 



466 BBAGEBRIDGE HALL. 

would shake his head dubiously, as he listened to a long 
complaint from the housekeeper, and sipped a glass of 
her raspberry brandy. 

Still his mother was not to be wearied out of her affec- 
tion by all the waywardness of her boy ; nor disheart- 
ened by the stories of his misdeeds, with which her good 
friends were continually regaling her. She had, it is 
true, very little of the pleasure which rich people enjoy, 
in always hearing their children praised ; but she con- 
sidered all this ill-will as a kind of persecution which he 
suffered, and she liked him the better on that account. 
She saw him growing up a fine, tall, good-looking young- 
ster, and she looked at him with the secret pride of a 
mother's heart. It was her great desire that Dolph 
should appear like a gentleman, and all the money she 
could save went towards helping out his pocket and his 
wardrobe. She would look out of the window after him, 
as he sallied forth in his best array, and her heart would 
yearn with delight; and once, when Peter de Groodt, 
struck with the youngster's gallant appearance on a 
bright Sunday morning, observed, " Well, after all, Dolph 
does grow a comely fellow!" the tear of pride started 
into the mother's eye. " Ah, neighbor ! neighbor ! " ex- 
claimed she, "they may say what they please; poor 
Dolph will yet hold up his head with the best of them ! " 

Dolph Heyliger had now nearly attained his one-and- 
twentieth year, and the term of his medical studies was 
just expiring ; yet it must be confessed that he knew lit- 



BOLPE HEYLiaEB. 467 

tie more of the profession than when he first entered the 
doctor's doors. This, however, could not be from any 
want of quickness of parts, for he showed amazing apt- 
ness in mastering other branches of knowledge, which he 
could only have studied at intervals. He was, for in- 
stance, a sure marksman, and won all the geese and tur- 
keys at Christmas holidays. He was a bold rider ; he 
was famous for leaping and wrestling ; he played toler- 
ably on the fiddle ; could swim like a fish ; and was the 
best hand in the whole place at fives and nine-pins. 

All these accomplishments, however, procured him no 
favor in the eyes of the doctor, who grew more and more 
crabbed and intolerant the nearer the term of apprentice- 
ship approached. Frau Ilsy, too, was forever finding 
some occasion to raise a windy tempest about his ears, 
and seldom encountered him about the house without a 
clatter of the tongue ; so that at length the jingling of 
her keys, as she approached, was to Dolph like the ring- 
ing of the prompter's bell, that gives notice of a theatrical 
thunder-storm. Nothing but the infinite good-humor of 
the heedless youngster enabled him to bear all this do- 
mestic tyranny without open rebellion. It was evident 
that the doctor and his housekeeper were preparing to 
beat the poor youth out of the nest, the moment his 
term should have expired, — a short-hand mode which the 
doctor had of providing for useless disciples. 

Indeed the little man had been rendered more than 
usually irritable lately in consequence of various cares 



468 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

and vexations wliicli his country estate liad brought 
upon him. The doctor had been repeatedly annoyed by 
the rumors and tales which prevailed concerning the old 
mansion, and found it difficult to prevail even upon the 
country-man and his family to remain there rent-free. 
Every time he rode out to the farm he was teased by 
some fresh complaint of strange noises and fearful sights, 
with which the tenants were disturbed at night ; and the 
doctor would come home fretting and fuming, and vent 
his spleen upon the whole household. It was indeed a 
sore grievance that affected him both in pride and purse. 
He was threatened with an absolute loss of the profits of 
his property; and then, what a blow to his territorial 
consequence, to be the landlord of a haunted house ! 

It was observed, however, that with all his vexation, 
the doctor never proposed to sleep in the house himself ; 
nay, he could never be prevailed upon to remain on the 
premises after dark, but made the best of his way for 
town as soon as the bats began to flit about in the twi- 
light. The fact was, the doctor had a secret belief in 
ghosts, having passed the early part of his life in a 
country where they particularly abound ; and indeed the 
story went, that, when a boy, he had once seen the devil 
upon the Hartz Mountains in Germany. 

At length the doctor's vexations on this head were 
brought to a crisis. One morning as he sat dozing over 
a volume in his study, he was suddenly startled from his 
slumbers by- the bustling in of the housekeeper. 



DOLPE HEYLIGEB. 469 

" Here's a fine to do ! " cried slie, as she entered the 
room. " Here's Claus Hopper come in, bag and baggage, 
from the farm, and swears he'll have nothing more to do 
with it. The whole family have been frightened out of 
their wits ; for there's such racketing and rummaging 
about the old house, that they can't sleep quiet in their 
beds ! " 

" Donner and blitzen ! " cried the doctor, impatiently ; 
" will they never have done chattering about that house ? 
What a pack of fools, to let a few rats and mice frighten 
them out of good quarters ! " 

" Nay, nay," said the housekeeper, wagging her head 
knowingly, and piqued at having a good ghost-story 
doubted, "there's more in it than rats and mice. All the 
neighborhood talks about the house; and then such 
sights as have been seen in it ! Peter de Groodt tells me, 
that the family that sold you the house, and went to Hol- 
land, dropped several strange hints about it, and said, 
'they wished you joy of your bargain;' and you know 
yourself there's no getting any family to live in it." 

"Peter de Groodt's a ninny — an old woman," said the 
doctor, peevishly ; " I'll warrant he's been filling these 
people's heads full of stories. It's just like his nonsense 
about the ghost that haunted the church-belfry, as an ex- 
cuse for not ringing the bell that cold night when Har- 
manus Brinkerhoff's house was on fire. Send Claus to 
me. 

Claus Hopper now made his appearance : a simple 



470 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

countiT" lout, full of awe at finding himself in the very 
study of Dr. Knipperhausen, and too much embarrassed 
to enter in much detail of the matters that had caused 
his alarm. He stood twirling his hat in one hand, rest- 
ing sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the other, look- 
ing occasionally at the doctor, and now and then stealing 
a fearful glance at the death's-head that seemed ogling 
him from the top of the clothes-press. 

The doctor tried every means to persuade him to re- 
turn to the farm, but all in vain ; he maintained a dogged 
determination on the subject ; and at the close of every 
argument or solicitation would make the same brief, in- 
flexible reply, "Ich kan nicht, mynheer." The doctor 
was a " little pot, and soon hot ; " his patience was ex- 
hausted by these continual vexations about his estate. 
The stubborn refusal of Claus Hopper seemed to him 
like flat rebellion; his temper suddenly boiled over, 
and Claus was glad to make a rapid retreat to escape 
scalding. 

When the bumpkin got to the housekeeper's room, he 
found Peter de Groodt, and several other true believers, 
ready to receive him. Here he indemnified himself for 
the restraint he had suffered in the study, and opened a 
budget of stories about the haunted house that aston- 
ished all his hearers. The housekeeper believed them 
all, if it was only to spite the doctor for having received 
her intelligence so uncourteously. Peter de Groodt 
matched them with many a wonderful legend of the times 



DOLPR EEYLIGER. 47I 

of the Dutch dynasty, and of tlie Devil's Stepping-stones ; 
and of the pirate hanged at Gibbet Island, that continued 
to swing there at night long after the gallows was taken 
down ; and of the ghost of the unfortunate Governor 
Leisler, hanged for treason, which haunted the old fort 
and the government-house. The gossiping knot dis- 
persed, each charged with direful intelligence. The sex- 
ton disburdened himself at a vestry meeting that was 
held that very day, and the black cook forsook her 
kitchen, and spent half the day at the street-pump, that 
gossiping-place of servants, dealing forth the news to all 
that came for water. In a little time the whole town was 
in a buzz with tales about the haunted house. Some said 
that Glaus Hopper had seen the devil, while others 
hinted that the house was haunted by the ghosts of some 
of the patients whom the doctor had physicked out of the 
world, and that was the reason why he did not venture to 
live in it himself. 

All this put the little doctor in a terrible fume. He 
threatened vengeance on any one who should affect the 
value of his property by exciting popular prejudices. He 
complained loudly of thus being in a manner dispos- 
sessed of his territories by mere bugbears ; but he secret- 
ly determined to have the house exorcised by the Domi- 
nie. Great was his relief, therefore, when in the midst 
of his perplexities, Dolph stepped forward and undertook 
to garrison the haunted house. The youngster had been 
listening to all the stories of Glaus Hopper and Peter de 



472 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

Groodt : lie was fond of adventure, he loved the marvel- 
lous, and his imagination had become quite excited by 
these tales of wonder. Besides, he had led such an un- 
comfortable life at the doctor's, being subjected to the in- 
tolerable thraldom of early hours, that he was delighted 
at the prospect of having a house to himself, even though 
it should be a haunted one. His offer was eagerly ac- 
cepted, and it was determined he should mount guard 
that very night. His only stipulation was, that the en- 
terprise should be kept secret from his mother ; for he 
knew the poor soul would not sleep a wink if she knew 
her son was waging war with the powers of darkness. 

"When night came on he set out on this perilous ex- 
pedition. The old black cook, his only friend in the 
household, had provided him with a little mess for sup- 
per, and a rush-light ; and she tied round his neck an 
amulet, given her by an African conjurer, as a charm 
against evil spirits. Dolph was escorted on his way by 
the doctor and Peter de Groodt, who had agreed to ac- 
company him to the house, and to see him safe lodged. 
The night was overcast, and it was very dark when they 
arrived at the grounds which surrounded the mansion. 
The sexton led the way with the lantern. As they walked 
along the avenue of acacias, the fitful light, catching from 
bush to bush, and tree to tree, often startled the doughty 
Peter, and made him fall back upon his followers ; and 
the doctor grappled still closer hold of Dolph's arm, ob- 
serving that , the ground was very slippery and uneven. 



DOLPH HETLIGEB. 473 

At one time they were nearly put to total rout by a bat, 
which came flitting about the lantern ; and the notes of 
the insects from the trees, and the frogs from a neighbor- 
ing pond, formed a most drowsy and doleful concert. 
The front door of the mansion opened with a grating 
sound, that made the doctor turn pale. They entered a 
tolerably large hall, such as is common in American 
country-houses, and which serves for a sitting-room in 
warm weather. From this they went up a wide staircase, 
that groaned and creaked as they trod, every step making 
its particular note, like the key of a harpsichord. This 
led to another hall on the second story, whence they en- 
tered the room where Dolph was to sleep. It was large, 
and scantily furnished ; the shutters were closed ; but as 
they were much broken, there was no want of a circula- 
tion of air. It appeared to have been that sacred cham- 
ber, known among Dutch housewives by the name of 
" the best bedroom ; " which is the best furnished room 
in the house, but in which scarce anybody is ever per- 
mitted to sleep. Its splendor, however, was all at an end. 
There were a few broken articles of furniture about the 
room, and in the centre stood a heavy deal table and a 
large arm-chair, both of which had the look of being 
coeval with the mansion. The fireplace was wide, and 
had been faced with Dutch tiles, representing Scripture 
stories ; but some of them had fallen out of their places, 
and lay scattered about the hearth. The sexton lit the 
rush-light ; and the doctor, looking fearfully about the 



474 BRACEBRIBGE HALL. 

room, was just exhortiiig Dolpli to be of good cheer, and 
to pluck up a stout lieart, wlien a noise in tlie chimney, 
like voices and struggling, struck a sudden panic into the 
sexton. He took to his heels with the lantern; the doc- 
tor followed hard after him; the stairs groaned and 
creaked as they hurried down, increasing their agitation 
and speed by its noise. The front door slammed after 
them ; and Dolph heard them scrabbling down the ave- 
nue, till the sound of their feet was lost in the distance. 
That he did not join in this precipitate retreat might 
have been owing to his possessing a little more courage 
than his companions, or perhaps that he had caught a 
glimpse of the cause of their dismay, in a nest of chim- 
ney-swallows, that came tumbling down into the fire- 
place. 

Being now left to himself, he secured the front door by 
a strong bolt and bar ; and having seen that the other en- 
trances were fastened, returned to his desolate chamber. 
Having made his supper from the basket which the good 
old cook had provided, he locked the chamber-door, and 
retired to rest on a mattress in one corner. The night 
was calm and still ; and nothing broke upon the profound 
quiet but the lonely chirping of a cricket from the chim- 
ney of a distant chamber. The rush-light, which stood 
in the centre of the deal table, shed a feeble yellow 
ray, dimly illumining the chamber, and making uncouth 
shapes and shadows on the walls, from the clothes which 
Dolph had thrown over a chair. 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 475 

"With all Ms boldness of heart, there was somethiiio' 
subduing in this desolate scene ; and he felt his spirits 
flag within him, as he lay on his hard bed and gazed 
about the room. He was turning over in his mind his 
idle habits, his doubtful prospects, and now and then 
heaving a heavy sigh as he thought on his poor old 
mother; for there is nothing like the silence and loneli- 
ness of night to bring dark shadows over the brightest 
mind. By and by he thought he heard a sound as of 
some one walking below stairs. He listened, and dis- 
tinctly heard a step on the great staircase. It approached 
solemnly and slowly, tramp — tramp — tramp ! It was evi- 
dently the tread of some heavy personage ; and yet how 
could he have got into the house without making a noise ? 
He had examined aU the fastenings, and was certain that 
every entrance was secure. Still the steps advanced, 
tramp— tramp — tramp! It was evident that the person 
approaching could not be a robber, the step was too loud 
and deliberate ; a robber would either be stealthy or pre- 
cipitate. And now the footsteps had ascended the stair- 
case ; they were slowly advancing along the passage, re- 
sounding through the silent and empty apartments. The 
very cricket had ceased its melancholy note, and nothing 
interrupted their awful distinctness. The door, which 
had been locked on the inside, slowly swung open, as if 
self-moved. The footsteps entered the room ; but no one 
was to be seen. They passed slowly and audibly across 
it, tramp — tramp— tramp ! but whatever made the sound 



476 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

was invisible. Dolph rubbed his eyes, and stared about 
him; lie could see to every part of the dimly-lighted 
chamber ; all was vacant ; yet still he heard those myste- 
rious footsteps, solemnly walking about the chamber. 
They ceased, and all was dead silence. There was some- 
thing more appalling in this invisible visitation than 
there would have been in anything that addressed itself 
to the eye-sight. It was awfully vague and indefinite. 
He felt his heart beat against his ribs ; a cold sweat 
broke out upon his forehead ; he lay for some time in a 
state of violent agitation ; nothing, however, occurred to 
increase his alarm. His light gradually burnt down into 
the socket, and he fell asleep. When he awoke it was 
broad daylight ; the sun was peering through the cracks 
of the window-shutters, and th« birds were merrily sing- 
ing about the house. The bright cheery day soon put to 
flight all the terrors of the preceding night. Dolph 
laughed, or rather tried to laugh, at all that had passed, 
and endeavored to persuade himself that it was a mere 
freak of the imagination, conjured up by the stories he 
had heard ; but he was a little puzzled to find the door of 
his room locked on the inside, notwithstanding that he 
had positively seen it swing open as the footsteps had 
entered. He returned to town in a state of considerable 
perplexity ; but he determined to say nothing on the sub- 
ject, until his doubts were either confirmed or removed by 
another night's watching. His silence was a grievous dis- 
appointment to the gossips who had gathered at the doc- 



DOLPH EEYLIOEB. 477 

tor's mansion. They had prepared their minds to hear 
direful tales, and were almost in a rage at being assured 
he had nothing to relate. 

The next night, then, Dolph repeated his vigil. He 
now entered the house with some trepidation. He was 
particular in examining the fastenings of all the doors, 
and securing them well. He locked the door of his 
chamber, and placed a chair against it ; then having dis- 
patched his supper, he threw himself on his mattress 
and endeavored to sleep. It was all in vain ; a thousand 
crowding fancies kept him waking. The time slowly 
dragged on, as if minutes were spinning themselves out 
into hours. As the night advanced, he grew more and 
more nervous ; and he almost started from his couch 
when he heard the mysterious footstep again on the 
staircase. Up it came, as before, solemnly and slowly, 
tramp — tramp — tramp ! It approached along the pas- 
sage ; the door again swung open, as if there had been 
neither lock nor impediment, and a strange-looking fig- 
ure stalked into the room. It was an elderly man, large 
and robust, clothed in the old Flemish fashion. He had 
on a kind of short cloak, with a garment under it, belted 
round the waist ; trunk-hose, with great bunches or bows 
at the knees ; and a pair of russet boots, very large at top, 
and standing widely from his legs. His hat was broad 
and slouched, with a feather trailing over one side. His 
iron-gray hair hung in thick masses on his neck ; and he 
had a short grizzled beard. He walked slowly round the 



478 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

room, as if examining that all was safe ; then, hanging 
his hat on a peg beside the door, he sat down in the 
elbow-chair, and, leaning his elbow on the table, fixed 
his eyes on Dolph with an unmoving and deadening 
stare. 

Dolph was not naturally a coward ; but he had been 
brought up in an implicit belief in ghosts and goblins. 
A thousand stories came swarming to his mind that he 
had heard about this building ; and as he looked at this 
strange personage, with his uncouth garb, his pale visage, 
his grizzly beard, and his fixed, staring, fishlike eye, his 
teeth began to chatter, his hair to rise on his head, and a 
cold sweat to break out all over his body. How long he 
remained in this situation he could not tell, for he was 
like one fascinated. He could not take his gaze off from 
the spectre ; but lay staring at him, with his whole intel- 
lect absorbed in the contemplation. The old man re- 
mained seated behind the table, without stirring, or turn- 
ing an eye, always keeping a dead steady glare upon 
Dolph. At length the household cock, from a neighbor- 
ing farm, clapped his wings, and gave a loud cheerful 
crow that rung over the fields. At the sound the old 
man slowly rose, and took down his hat from the peg ; 
the door opened, and closed after him ; he was heard to 
go slowly down the staircase, tramp — tramp — tramp ! — 
and when he had got to the bottom, all was again silent. 
Dolph lay and listened earnestly ; counted every footfall ; 
listened, and listened, if the steps should return, until, 




DOLPH HEYLIGEB. 479 

exhausted by watcliing and agitation, lie fell into a 
troubled sleep. 

Daylight again brought fresh courage and assurance. 
He would fain have considered all that had passed as a 
mere dream ; yet there stood the chair in which the un- 
known had seated himself ; there was the table on which 
he had leaned ; there was the peg on which he had hung 
his hat ; and there was the door, locked precisely as he 
himself had locked it, with the chair placed against it. 
He hastened down-stairs, and examined the doors and 
windows ; all were exactly in the same state in which he 
had left them, and there was no apparent way by which 
any being could have entered and left the house, without 
leaving some trace behind. "Pooh!" said Dolph to him- 
self, " it was all a dream : " — but it would not do ; the 
more he endeavored to shake the scene off from his mind, 
the more it haunted him. 

Though he persisted in a strict silence as to all that he 
\had seen or heard, yet his looks betrayed the uncomfort- 
able night that he had passed. It was evident that there 
was something wonderful hidden under this mysterious 
reserve. The doctor took him into the study, locked the 
door, and sought to have a full and confidential commu- 
nication ; but he could get nothing out of him. Frau Ilsy 
took him aside into the pantry, but to as little purpose ; 
and Peter de Groodt held him by the button for a full 
hour^ in the church-yard, the very place to get at the 
bottom of a ghost-story, but came off not a whit wiser 



480 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

than the rest. It is always the case, however, that one 
truth concealed makes a dozen current lies. It is like a 
guinea locked up in a bank, that has a dozen paper 
representatives. Before the day was over, the neighbor- 
hood was full of reports. Some said that Dolph Heyliger 
watched in the haunted house, with pistols loaded with 
silver bullets; others, that he had a long talk with a 
spectre without a head ; others, that Doctor Knipper- 
hausen and the sexton had been hunted down the Bowery 
lane, and quite into town, by a legion of ghosts of their 
customers. Some shook their heads, and thought it a 
shame the doctor should put Dolph to pass the night 
alone in that dismal house, where he might be spirited 
away no one knew whither ; while others observed, with 
a shrug, that if the devil did carry off the youngster, it 
would be but taking his own. 

These rumors at length reached the ears of the good 
Dame Heyliger, and, as may be supposed, threw her into 
a terrible alarm. For her son to have opposed himself to 
danger from living foes, would have been nothing so 
dreadful in her eyes, as to dare alone the terrors of the 
haunted house. She hastened to the doctor's, and passed 
a great part of the day in attempting to dissuade Dolph 
from repeating his vigil; she told him a score of tales, 
which her gossiping friends had just related to her, of 
persons who had been carried off, when watching alone 
in old ruinous houses. It was all to no effect. Dolph's 
pride, as well as curiosity, was piqued. He endeavored 



DOLPE HEYLIGEB. 481 

to calm tlie apprehensions of his mother, and to assure 
her that there was no truth in all the rumors she had 
heard ; she looked at him dubiously and shook her head ; 
but finding his determination was not to be shaken, she 
brought him a little thick Dutch Bible, with brass clasps, 
to take with him, as a sword wherewith to fight the pow- 
ers of darkness ; and, lest that might not be sufficient, the 
housekeeper gave him the Heidelberg catechism by way 
of dagger. 

The next night, therefore, Dolph took up his quarters 
for the third time in the old mansion. Whether dream 
or not, the same thing was repeated. Towards midnight, 
when everything was still, the same sound echoed 
through the empty halls, tramp — tramp — tramp ! The 
stairs were again ascended ; the door again swung open ; 
the old man entered ; walked round the room ; hung up 
his hat, and seated himself by the table. The same fear 
and trembling came over poor Dolph, though not in so 
violent a degree. He lay in the same way, motionless 
and fascinated, staring at the figure, which regarded him 
as before with a dead, fixed, chilling gaze. In this way 
they remained for a long time, till, by degrees, Dolph's 
courage began gradually to revive. Whether alive or 
dead, this being had certainly some object in his visita- 
tion ; and he recollected to have heard it said, spirits 
have no power to speak until spoken to. Summoning up 
resolution, therefore, and making two or three attempts, 
before he could get his parched tongue in motion, he ad- 
31 



482 BRAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

dressed the unknowrL in tlie most solemn form of adjura- 
tion, and demanded to know what was the motive of his 
visit. 

No sooner had he finished, than the old man rose, took 
down his hat, the door opened, and he went out, looking 
back upon Dolph just as he crossed the threshold, as if 
expecting him to follow. The youngster did not hesitate 
an instant. He took the candle in his hand, and the 
Bible under his arm, and obeyed the tacit invitation. 
The candle emitted a feeble, uncertain ray, but still he 
could see the figure before him slowly descend the stairs. 
He followed trembling. When it had reached the bottom 
of the stairs, it turned through the hall towards the back 
door of the mansion. Dolph held the light over the bal- 
ustrades ; but, in his eagerness to catch a sight of the 
unknown, he flared his feeble taper so suddenly, that it 
went out. Still there was sufficient light from the pale 
moonbeams, that fell through a narrow window, to give 
him an indistinct view of the figure, near the door. He 
followed, therefore, down stairs, and turned towards the 
place ; but when he arrived there, the unknown had dis- 
appeared. The door remained fast barred and bolted; 
there was no other mode of exit ; yet the being, whatever 
he might be, was gone. He unfastened the door, and 
looked out into the fields. It was a hazy, moonlight 
night, so that the eye could distinguish objects at some 
distance. He thought he saw the unknown in a footpath 
which led firom the door. He was not mistaken ; but how 



BOLPR HEYLIGEB. 483 

had he got out of the house ? He did not pause to think, 
but followed on. The old man proceeded at a measured 
pace, without looking about him, his footsteps sounding 
on the hard ground. He passed through the orchard of 
apple-trees, always keeping the footpath. It led to a 
well, situated in a little hollow, which had supplied the 
farm with water. Just at this well Dolph lost sight of 
him. He rubbed his eyes and looked again ; but nothing 
was to be seen of the unknown. He reached the well; 
but nobody was there. All the surrounding ground was 
open and clear ; there was no bush nor hiding-place. He 
looked down the well, and saw, at a great depth, the re- 
flection of the sky in the still water. After remaining 
here for some time, without seeing or hearing anything 
more of his mysterious conductor, he returned to the 
house, full of awe and wonder. He bolted the door, 
groped his way back to bed, and it was long before he 
could compose himself to sleep. 

His dreams were strange and troubled. He thought 
he was following the old man along the side of a great 
river, until they came to a vessel on the point of sailing ; 
and that his conductor led him on board and vanished. 
He remembered the commander of the vessel, a short 
swarthy man, with crisped black hair, blind of one eye, 
and lame of one leg ; but the rest of his dream was very 
confused. Sometimes he was sailing; sometimes on 
shore ; now amidst storms and tempests, and now wan- 
dering quietly in unknown streets. The figure of the old 



484 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

man was strangely mingled up witli the incidents of tlie 
dream, and the whole distinctly wound up by his finding 
himself on board of the vessel again, returning home, 
with a great bag of money ! 

When he woke, the gray, cool light of dawn was streak- 
ing the horizon, and the cocks passing the reveille from 
farm to farm throughout the country. He rose more 
harassed and perplexed than ever. He was singularly 
confounded by all that he had seen and dreamt, and be- 
gan to doubt whether his mind was not affected, and 
whether all that passing in his thoughts might not be 
mere feverish fantasy. In his present state of mind, he 
did not feel disposed to return immediately to the doc- 
tor's, and undergo the cross-questioning of the house- 
hold. He made a scanty breakfast, therefore, on the re- 
mains of the last night's provisions, and then wandered 
out into the fields to meditate on all that had befallen 
him. Lost in thought, he rambled about, gradually ap- 
proaching the town, until the morning was far advanced, 
when he was aroused by a hurry and bustle around him. 
He found himself near the water's edge, in a throng of 
people, hurrying to a pier, where was a vessel ready to 
make sail. He was unconsciously carried along by the 
impulse of the crowd, and found that it was a sloop, on 
the point of sailing up the Hudson to Albany. There was 
much leave-taking, and kissing of old women and chil- 
dren, and great activity in carrying on board baskets of 
bread and cakes, and provisions of all kinds, notwith- 



BOLPH EEYLIGEB. 485 

standing the mighty joints of meat that dangled over the 
stern ; for a voyage to Albany was an expedition of great 
moment in those days. The commander of the sloop was 
hurrying about, and giving a world of orders, which were 
not very strictly attended to ; one man being busy in 
lighting his pipe, and another in sharpening his snicker- 
snee. 

The appearance of the commander suddenly caught 
Dolph's attention. He was short and swarthy, with 
crisped black hair ; blind of one eye and lame of one leg 
— the very commander that he had seen in his dream ! 
Surprised and aroused, he considered the scene more 
attentively, and recalled still further traces of his dream : 
the appearance of the vessel, of the river, and of images, 
a variety of other objects accorded with the imperfect 
vaguely rising to recollection. 

As he stood musing on these circumstances, the cap- 
tain suddenly called out to him in Dutch, " Step on board, 
young man, or you'll be left behind ! " he was startled by 
the summons ; he saw that the sloop was cast loose, and 
was actually moving from the pier ; it seemed as if he was 
actuated by some irresistible impulse ; he sprang upon 
the deck, and the next moment the sloop was hurried off 
by the wind and tide. Dolph's thoughts and feelings 
were all in tumult and confusion. He had been strongly 
worked upon by the events which had recently befallen 
him, and could not but think there was some connection 
between his present situation and his last night's dream. 



486 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

He felt as if under supernatural influence ; and tried to 
assure himself with an old and favorite maxim of his, 
that "one way or other all would turn out for the best." 
For a moment, the indignation of the doctor at his de- 
parture, without leave, passed across his mind, but that 
was matter of little moment; then he thought of the 
distress of his mother at his strange disappearance, and 
the idea gave him a sudden pang ; he would have en- 
treated to be put on shore ; but he knew with such wind 
and tide the entreaty would have been in vain. Then the 
inspiring love of novelty and adventure came rushing in 
full tide through his bosom ; he felt himself launched 
strangely and suddenly on the world, and under full way 
to explore the regions of wonder that lay up this mighty 
river, and beyond those blue mountains which had 
bounded his horizon since childhood. "While he was lost 
in this whirl of thought, the sails strained to the breeze ; 
the shores seemed to hurry away behind him ; and be- 
fore he perfectly recovered his self-possession, the sloop 
was ploughing her way past Spiking-devil and Yonkers, 
and the tallest chimney of the Manhattoes had faded 
from his sight. 

I have said that a voyage up the Hudson in those days 
was an undertaking of some moment ; indeed, it was as 
much thought of as a voyage to Europe is at present. 
The sloops were often many days on the way; the cau- 
tious navigators taking in sail when it blew fresh, and 
coming to ancjior at night ; and stopping to send the boat 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 487 

ashore for milk for tea ; without whicli it was impossible 
for the worthy old lady passengers to subsist. And there 
were the much-talked-of perils of the Tappaan Zee, and 
the highlands. In short, a prudent Dutch burgher would 
talk of such a voyage for months, and even years, before- 
hand ; and never undertook it without putting his affairs 
in order, making his will, and having prayers said for 
him in the Low Dutch churches. 

In the course of such a voyage, therefore, Dolph was 
satisfied he would have time enough to reflect, and to 
make up his mind as to what he should do when he ar- 
rived at Albany. The captain, with his blind eye, and 
lame leg, would, it is true, bring his strange dream to 
mind, and perplex him sadly for a few moments ; but of 
late his life had been made up so much of dreams and 
realities, his nights and days had been so jumbled to- 
gether, that he seemed to be moving continually in a 
delusion. There is always, however, a kind of vagabond 
consolation in a man's having nothing in this world to 
lose ; with this Dolph comforted his heart, and deter- 
mined to make the most of the present enjoyment. 

In the second day of the voyage they came to the 
highlands. It was the latter part of a calm, sultry day, 
that they floated gently with the tide between these stern 
mountains. There was that perfect quiet which prevails 
over nature in the languor of summer heat ; the turning 
of a plank, or the accidental falling of an oar on deck, 
was echoed from the mountain-side, and reverberated 



488 BRACEBBIDGE HALL. 

along tlie shores ; and if by chance the captain gave a 
shout of command, there were airy tongues which mocked 
it from every cliff. 

Dolph gazed about him in mute delight and wonder 
at these scenes of nature's magnificence. To the left the 
Dunderberg reared its woody precipices, height over 
height, forest over forest, away into the deep summer 
sky. To the right, strutted forth the bold promontory of 
Antony's Nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it ; 
while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until 
they seemed to lock their arms together, and confine this 
mighty river in their embraces. There was a feeling of 
quiet luxury in gazing at the broad, green bosoms here 
and there scooped out among the precipices ; or at 
woodlands high in air, nodding over the edge of some 
beetling bluff, and their foliage all transparent in the 
yellow sunshine. 

In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a 
pile of bright, snowy clouds, peering above the western 
heights. It was succeeded by another, and another, each 
seemingly pushing onwards its predecessor, and tower- 
ing, with dazzling brilliancy, in the deep-blue atmos- 
phere ; and now muttering peals of thunder were faintly 
heard rolling behind the mountains. The river, hitherto 
still and glassy, reflecting pictures of the sky and land, 
now showed a dark ripple at a distance, as the breeze 
came creeping up it. The fish-hawks wheeled and 
screamed, and sought their nests on the high dry trees ; 



DOLPE HETLIQEB. 489 

the crows flew clamorously to the crevices of the rocks, 
and all nature seemed conscious of the approaching 
thunder-gust. 

The clouds now rolled in volumes over the mountain- 
tops ; their summits still bright and snowy, but the 
lower parts of an inky blackness. The rain began to 
patter down in broad and scattered drops ; the wind 
freshened, and curled up the waves ; at length it seemed 
as if the bellying clouds were torn open by the moun- 
tain-tops, and complete torrents of rain came rattling 
down. The lightning leaped from cloud to cloud, and 
streamed quivering against the rocks, splitting and rend- 
ing the stoutest forest-trees. The thunder burst in tre- 
mendous explosions ; the peals were echoed from moun- 
tain to mountain; they crashed upon Dunderberg, and 
rolled up the long defile of the highlands, each headland 
making a new echo, until old Bull Hill seemed to bellow 
back the storm. 

For a time the scudding rack and mist, and the sheeted 
rain, almost hid the landscape from the sight. There 
was a fearful gloom, illumined still more fearfully by the 
streams of lightning which glittered among the rain- 
drops. Never had Dolph beheld such an absolute war- 
ring of the elements ; it seemed as if the storm was 
tearing and rending its way through this mountain 
defile, and had brought all the artillery of heaven into 
action. 

The vessel was hurried on by the increasing wind, until 



490 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

she came to wliere tlie river makes a sudden bend, the 
only one in tlie wliole course of its majestic career.* 
Just as tliey turned tlie point, a violent flaw of wind came 
sweeping down a mountain gully, bending tbe forest be- 
fore it, and, in a moment, lashing up tlie river into white 
froth and foam. The captain saw the danger, and cried 
out to lower the sail. Before the order could be obeyed, 
the flaw struck the sloop, and threw her on her beam 
ends. Everything now was fright and confusion : the 
flapping of the sails, the whistling and rushing of the 
wind, the bawling of the captain and crew, the shrieking 
of the passengers, all mingled with the rolling and bel- 
lowing of the thunder. In the midst of the uproar the 
sloop righted ; at the same time the mainsail shifted, the 
boom came sweeping the quarter-deck, and Dolph, who 
was gazing unguardedly at the clouds, found himself, in a 
moment, floundering in the river. 

For once in his life one of his idle accomplishments 
was of use to him. The many truant hours he had de- 
voted to sporting in the Hudson had made him an expert 
swimmer ; yet with all his strength and skill he found 
great difficulty in reaching the shore. His disappear- 
ance from the deck had not been noticed by the crew, 
who were all occupied by their own danger. The sloop 
was driven along with inconceivable rapidity. She had 
hard work to weather a long promontory on the eastern 

* This must have been the bend at West Point. 



DOLPH EETLIGEB. 491 

shore, round wliicli the river turned, and which com- 
pletely shut her from Dolph's view. 

It was on a j)oint of the western shore that he landed, 
and, scrambling up the rocks, threw himself, faint and ex- 
hausted, at the foot of a tree. By degrees the thunder- 
gust passed over. The clouds rolled away to the east, 
where they lay piled in feathery masses, tinted with 
the last rosy rays of the sun. The distant play of the 
lightning might be seen about the dark bases, and now 
and then might be heard the faint muttering of the thun- 
der. Dolph rose, and sought about to see if any path led 
from the shore, but all was savage and trackless. The 
rocks were piled upon each other ; great trunks of trees 
lay shattered about, as they had been blown down by the 
strong winds which draw through these mountains, or 
had fallen through age. The rocks, too, were overhung 
with wild vines and briers, which completely matted 
themselves together, and opposed a barrier to all ingress ; 
every movement that he made shook down a shower from 
the dripping foliage. He attempted to scale one of these 
almost perpendicular heights; but, though strong and 
agile, he found it an Herculean undertaking. Often he 
was supported merely by crumbling projections of the 
rock, and sometimes he clung to roots and branches of 
trees, and hung almost suspended in the air. The wood- 
pigeon came cleaving his whistling flight by him, and the 
eagle screamed from the brow of the impending cliff. As 
he was thus clambering, he was on the point of seizing 



492 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

hold of a shrub to aid his ascent, when something rustled 
among the leaves, and he saw a snake quivering along 
like lightning, almost from under his hand. It coiled it- 
self up immediately, in an attitude of defiance, with flat- 
tened head, distended jaws, and quickly vibrating tongue, 
that played like a little flame about its mouth. Dolph's 
heart turned faint within him, and he had well-nigh let 
go his hold and tumbled down the precipice. The ser- 
pent stood on the defensive but for an instant ; and find- 
ing there was no attack, glided away into a cleft of the 
rock. Dolph's eye followed it with fearful intensity, and 
saw a nest of adders, knotted, and writhing, and hissing in 
the chasm. He hastened with all speed from so fright- 
ful a neighborhood. His imagination, full of this new 
horror, saw an adder in every curling vine, and heard 
the tail of a rattlesnake in every dry leaf that rustled. 

At length he succeeded in scrambling to the summit 
of a precipice ; but it was covered by a dense forest. 
Wherever he could gain a lookout between trees, he be- 
held heights and cliffs, one rising beyond another, until 
huge mountains overtopped the whole. There were no 
signs of cultivation ; no smoke curling among the trees 
to indicate a human residence. Everything was wild and 
solitary. As he was standing on the edge of a precipice 
overlooking a deep ravine fringed with trees, his feet 
detached a great fragment of rock ; it fell, crashing its 
way through the tree-tops, down into the chasm. A 
loud whoop, o,r rather yell, issued from the bottom of the 



DOLPE HETLIOEB. 493 

glen ; the moment after there was a report of a gun ; and 
a ball came whistling over his head, cutting the twigs 
and leaves, and burying itself deep in the bark of a 
chestnut-tree. 

Dolph did not wait for a second shot, but made a pre- 
cipitate retreat ; fearing every moment to hear the enemy 
in pursuit. He succeeded, however, in returning unmo- 
lested to the shore, and determined to penetrate no far- 
ther into a country so beset with savage perils. 

He sat himself down, dripping, disconsolately, on a 
stone. What was to be done ? where was he to shelter 
himself ? The hour of repose was approaching : the birds 
were seeking their nests, the bat began to flit about in 
the twilight, and the night-hawk, soaring high in the 
heaven, seemed to be calling out the stars. Night gradu- 
ally closed in, and wrapped everything in gloom ; and 
though it was the latter part of summer, the breeze 
stealing along the river, and among these dripping for- 
ests, was chilly and penetrating, especially to a half- 
drowned man. 

As he sat drooping and despondent in this comfortless 
condition, he perceived a light gleaming through the 
trees near the shore, where the winding of the river made 
a deep bay. It cheered him with the hope of a human 
habitation, where he might get something to appease the 
clamorous cravings of his stomach, and what was equally 
necessary in his shipwrecked condition, a comfortable 
shelter for the night. With extreme difficulty he made 



494 BBACEBRIDOE HALL. 

his way toward the light, along ledges of rocks, down 
which he was in danger of sliding into the river, and over 
great trunks of fallen trees ; some of which had been 
blown down in the late storm, and lay so thickly together 
that he had to struggle through their branches. At 
length he came to the brow of a rock overhanging a small 
dell, whence the light proceeded. It was from a fire at 
the foot of a great tree in the midst of a grassy interval 
or plat among the rocks. The fire cast up a red glare 
among the gray crags, and impending trees ; leaving 
chasms of deep gloom, that resembled entrances to cav- 
erns. A small brook rippled close by, betrayed by the 
quivering reflection of the flame. There were two figures 
moving about the fire, and others squatted before it. As 
they were between him and the light, they were in com- 
plete shadow : but one of them happening to move round 
to the opposite side, Dolph was startled at perceiving, by 
the glare falling on painted features, and glittering on sil- 
ver ornaments, that he was an Indian. He now looked 
more narrowly, and saw guns leaning against a tree, and 
a dead body lying on the ground. Here was the very foe 
that had fired at him from the glen. He endeavored to 
retreat quietly, not caring to intrust himself to these 
half-human beings in so savage and lonely a place. It 
was too late : the Indian, with that eagle quickness of eye 
so remarkable in his race, perceived something stirring 
among the bushes on the rock : he seized one of the guns 
that leaned against the tree; one moment more, and 



DOLPH EETLIOEB. 495 

Dolpli miglit have had his passion for adventure cured 
by a bullet. He halloed loudly, with the Indian saluta- 
tion of friendship ; the whole party sprang upon their 
feet ; the salutation was returned, and the straggler was 
invited to join them at the fire. 

On approaching, he found, to his consolation, the party 
was composed of white men as well as Indians. One, 
evidently the principal personage, or commander, was 
seated on a trunk of a tree before the fire. He was a 
large, stout man, somewhat advanced in life, but hale and 
hearty. His face was bronzed almost to the color of an 
Indian's ; he had strong but rather jovial features, an 
aquiline nose, and a mouth shaped like a mastiff's. His 
face was half thrown in shade by a broad hat, with a 
buck's tail in it. His gray hair hung short in his neck. 
He wore a hunting-frock, with Indian leggins, and moc- 
casons, and a tomahawk in the broad wampum-belt 
round his waist. As Dolph caught a distinct view of his 
person and features, something reminded him of the old 
man of the haunted house. The man before him, how- 
ever, was different in dress and age; he was more cheery 
too in aspect, and it was hard to find where the vague 
resemblance lay ; but a resemblance there certainly was. 
Dolph felt some degree of awe in approaching him ; but 
was assured by a frank, hearty welcome. He was still 
further encouraged by perceiving that the dead body, 
which had caused him some alarm, was that of a deer ; 
and his satisfaction was complete in discerning, by 



496 BBACEBRIDQE HALL. 

savory steams from a kettle, suspended by a hooked stick 
over tlie fire, that there was a part cooking for the even- 
ing's repast. 

He had, in fact, fallen in with a rambling hunting- 
party, such as often took place in those days among the 
settlers along the river. The hunter is always hospi- 
table ; and nothing makes men more social and uncere- 
monious than meeting in the wilderness. The com- 
mander of the party poured out a dram of cheering 
liquor, which he gave him with a merry leer, to warm his 
heart ; and ordered one of his followers to fetch some 
garments from a pinnace, moored in a cove close by, 
while those in which our hero was dripping might be 
dried before the fire. 

Dolph found, as he had suspected, that the shot from 
the glen, which had come so near giving him his quietus 
when on the precipice, was from the party before him. 
He had nearly crushed one of them by the fragments of 
rock which he had detached ; and the jovial old hunter, in 
the broad hat and buck-tail, had fired at the place where 
he saw the bushes move, supposing it to be the sound of 
some wild animal. He laughed heartily at the blunder, it 
being what is considered an exceeding good joke among 
hunters : " but faith, my lad," said he, " if I had but 
caught a glimpse of you to take sight at, you would have 
followed the rock. Antony Yander Heyden is seldom 
known to miss his aim." These last words were at once 
a clue to Dolph's curiosity: and a few questions let 



DOLPE EEYLIOEB. 497 

him completely into the character of the man before him, 
and of his band of woodland rangers. The commander in 
the broad hat and hunting-frock was no less a personage 
than the Heer Antony Yander Heyden, of Albany, of 
whom Dolph had many a time heard. He was, in fact, 
the hero of many a story, his singular humors and whim- 
sical habits being matters of wonder to his quiet Dutch 
neighbors. As he was a man of property, having had a 
father before him from whom he inherited large tracts of 
wild land, and whole barrels full of wampum, he could 
indulge his humors without control. Instead of staying 
quietly at home, eating and drinking at regular meal- 
times, amusing himself by smoking his pipe on the 
bench before the door, and then turning into a comfort- 
able bed at night, he delighted in all kinds of rough, wild 
expeditions : never so happy as when on a hunting-party 
in the wilderness, sleeping under trees or bark sheds, or 
cruising down the river, or on some woodland lake, fish- 
ing and fowling, and living the Lord knows how. 

He was a great friend to Indians, and to an Indian 
mode of life ; which he considered true natural liberty 
and manly enjoyment. When at home he had always 
several Indian hangers-on who loitered about his house, 
sleeping like hounds in the sunshine ; or preparing hunt- 
ing and fishing tackle for some new expedition ; or shoot- 
ing at marks with bows and arrows. 

Over these vagrant beings Heer Antony had as perfect 
command as a huntsman over his pack ; though they 
32 



498 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

were great nuisances to tlie regular people of his neigli- 
borhood. As lie was a rich man, no one ventured to 
thwart his humors ; indeed, his hearty, joyous manner 
made him universally popular. He would troll a Dutch 
song as he tramped along the street ; hail every one a 
mile off, and when he entered a house, would slap the 
good man familiarly on the back, shake him by the hand 
till he roared, and kiss his wife and daughter before his 
face, — in short, there was no pride nor ill humor about 
Heer Antony. 

Besides his Indian hangers-on, he had three or four 
humble friends among the white men, who looked up to 
him as a patron, and had the run of his kitchen, and the 
favor of being taken with him occasionally on his expe- 
ditions. With a medley of such retainers he was at 
present on a cruise along the shores of the Hudson, in a 
pinnace kept for his own recreation. There were two 
white men with him, dressed partly in the Indian style, 
with moccasons and hunting-shirts ; the rest of his crew 
consisted of four favorite Indians. They had been prowl- 
ing about the river, without any definite object, until 
they found themselves in the highlands ; where they had 
passed two or three days, hunting the deer which still 
lingered among these mountains. 

" It is lucky for you, young man," said Antony Vander 
Heyden, "that you happened to be knocked overboard 
to-day, as to-morrow morning we start early on our re- 
turn homewards; and you might then have looked in 



DOLPH HEYLIGEB. 499 

vain for a meal among tlie mountains — ^but come, lads, 
stir about ! stir about ! Let's see what prog we have for 
supper ; the kettle has boiled long enough ; my stomach 
cries cupboard ; and I'll warrant our guest is in no mood 
to dally with his trencher." 

There was a bustle now in the little encampment ; one 
took off the kettle and turned a part of the contents into 
a huge wooden bowl. Another prepared a flat rock for 
a table ; while a third brought various utensils from the 
pinnace ; Heer Antony himself brought a flask or two of 
precious liquor from his own private locker; knowing 
his boon companions too well to trust any of them with 
the key. 

A rude but hearty repast was soon spread ; consisting 
of venison smoking from the kettle, with cold bacon, 
boiled Indian corn, and mighty loaves of good brown 
household bread. Never had Dolph made a more deli- 
cious repast ; and when he had washed it down with two 
or three draughts from the Heer Antony's flask, and felt 
the jolly liquor sending its warmth through his veins, 
and glowing round his very heart, he would not have 
changed his situation, no, not with the governor of the 
province. 

The Heer Antony, too, grew chirping and joyous ; told 
half a dozen fat stories, at which his white followers 
laughed immoderately, though the Indians, as usual, 
maintained an invincible gravity. 

" This is your true life, my boy ! " said he, slapping 



500 bbacebhidge hall. 

Dolpli on tlie stoulder ; " a man is never a man till he 
can defy wind and weather, range woods and wilds, sleep 
under a tree, and live on bass-wood leaves ! " 

And then would he sing a stave or two of a Dutch 
drinking-song, swaying a short swab Dutch bottle in his 
hand, while his myrmidons would join in the chorus, 
until the woods echoed again; — as the good old song 

has it, 

" They all -witli a shout made the elements ring 
So soon as the office was o'er, 
To feasting they went, with true merriment, 
And tippled strong liquor giUore." 

In the midst of his joviality, however, Heer Antony did 
not lose sight of discretion. Though he pushed the bot- 
tle without reserve to Dolph, he always took care to help 
his followers himself, knowing the beings he had to deal 
with ; and was particular in granting but a moderate al- 
lowance to the Indians. The repast being ended, the In- 
dians having drunk their liquor, and smoked their pipes, 
now wrapped themselves in their blankets, stretched 
themselves on the ground, with their feet to 4;he fire, and 
soon fell asleep, like so many tired hounds. The rest of 
the party remained chatting before the fire, which the 
gloom of the forest, and the dampness of the air from the 
late storm, rendered extremely grateful and comforting. 
The conversation gradually moderated from the hilarity 
of supper-time, and turned upon hunting-adventures, and 
exploits and perils in the wilderness, many of which were 



DOLPH HETLIQEB. 501 

SO strange and improbable, tliat I will not venture to re- 
peat them, lest the veracity of Antony Yander Heyden 
and his comrades should be brought into question. 
There were many legendary tales told, also, about the 
river, and the settlements on its borders ; in which valu- 
able kind of lore the Heer Antony seemed deeply versed. 
As the sturdy bush-beater sat in a twisted root of a tree, 
that served him for an arm-chair, dealing forth these 
wild stories, with the fire gleaming on his strongly 
marked visage, Dolph was again repeatedly perplexed by 
something that reminded him of the phantom of the 
haunted house ; some vague resemblance not to be fixed 
upon any precise feature or lineament, but pervading the 
general air of his countenance and figure. 

The circumstance of Dolph's falling overboard led to 
the relation of divers disasters and singular mishaps that 
had befallen voyagers on this great river, particularly in 
the earlier periods of colonial history; most of which 
the Heer deliberately attributed to supernatural causes. 
Dolph stared at this suggestion ; but the old gentleman 
assured him it was very currently believed by the settlers 
along the river, that these highlands were under the do- 
minion of supernatural and mischievous beings, which 
seemed to have taken some pique against the Dutch 
colonists in the early time of the settlement. In conse- 
quence of this, they have ever taken particular delight in 
venting their spleen, and indulging their humors, upon 
the Dutch skippers ; bothering them with flaws, head- 



502 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

winds, counter-currents, and all kinds of impediments ; 
insomuch., that a Dutch navigator was always obliged to 
be exceedingly wary and deliberate in his proceedings ; 
to come to anchor at dusk ; to drop his peak, or take in 
sail, whenever he saw a swag-bellied cloud rolling over 
the mountains ; in short, to take so many precautions, 
that he was often apt to be an incredible time in toiling 
up the river. 

Some, he said, believed these mischievous powers of 
the air to be the evil spirits conjured up by the Indian 
wizards, in the early times of the province, to revenge 
themselves on the strangers who bad dispossessed them 
of their country. They even attributed to their incanta- 
tions the misadventure which befell the renowned Hen- 
drick Hudson, when he sailed so gallantly up tbis river 
in quest of a northwest passage, and, as he thought, ran 
his ship aground ; which they affirm was nothing more 
nor less than a spell of these same wizards, to prevent 
his getting to China in this direction. 

The greater part, however, Heer Antony observed, ac- 
counted for all the extraordinary circumstances attending 
this river, and the perplexities of the skippers who navi- 
gated it, by the old legend of the Storm-ship which 
haunted Point-no-point. On finding Dolph to be utterly 
ignorant of this tradition, the Heer stared at him for a 
moment with surprise, and wondered where he had 
passed his life, to be uninformed on so important a point 
of history. To pass away the remainder of the evening, 



DOLPH HEYLIGEB. 503 

therefore, lie undertook the tale, as far as his memory 
would serve, in the yery words in which it had been 
written out by Mynheer Selyne, an early poet of the New 
Netherlandts. Giving, then, a stir to the fire, that sent 
up its sparks among the trees like a little volcano, he ad- 
justed himself comfortably in his root of a tree, and 
throwing back his head, and closing his eyes for a few 
moments, to summon up his recollection, he related the 
following legend. 




THE STOKM-SHIP. 

N the golden age of tlie province of the New 
Netherlands, when under the sway of Wouter 
Yan Twiller, otherwise called the Doubter, the 
people of the Manhattoes were alarmed one sultry after- 
noon, just about the time of the summer solstice, by a 
tremendous storm of thunder and lightning. The rain 
fell in such torrents as absolutely to spatter up and 
smoke along the ground. It seemed as if the thunder 
rattled and rolled over the very roofs of the houses ; the 
lightning was seen to play about the church of St. Nicho- 
las, and to strive thr^e times, in vain, to strike its 
weather-cock. Garret Yan Home's new chimney was 
split almost from top to bottom ; and Doffue Milde- 
berger was struck speechless from his bald-faced mare, 
just as he was riding into town. In a word, it was one 
of those unparalleled storms which only happen once 
within the memory of that venerable personage known in 
all towns by the appellation of " the oldest inhabitant." 

Great was the terror of the good old women of the 
Manhattoes. They gathered their children together, and 
took refuge in the cellars ; after having hung a shoe on 
the iron point of every bedpost, lest it should attract the 

504 



THE 8T0BM-SHIP. 505 

lightning. At length the storm abated ; the thunder sank 
into a growl, and the setting sun, breaking from under the 
fringed borders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of 
the bay to gleam like a sea of molten gold. 

The word was given from the fort that a ship was 
standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to mouth, 
and street to street, and soon put the little capital in a 
bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those early times of the 
settlement, was an event of vast importance to the inhab- 
itants. It brought them news from the old world, from 
the land of their birth, from which they were so com- 
pletely severed : to the yearly ship, too, they looked for 
their supply of luxuries, of finery, of comforts, and almost 
of necessaries. The good vrouw could not have her new 
cap nor new gown until the arrival of the ship ; the artist 
waited for it for his tools, the burgomaster for his pipe 
and his supply of Hollands, the schoolboy for his top and 
marbles, and the lordly landholder for the bricks with 
which he was to build his new mansion. Thus every one, 
rich and poor, great and small, looked out for the arrival 
of the ship. It was the great yearly event of the town of 
New Amsterdam ; and from one end of the year to the 
other, the ship — the ship — the ship — was the continual 
topic of conversation. 

The news from the fort, therefore, brought all the pop- 
ulace down to the Battery, to behold the wished-for sight. 
It was not exactly the time when she had been expected 
to arrive, and the circumstance was a matter of some 



506 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

speculation. Many were the groups collected about the 
Battery. Here and there might be seen a burgomaster, 
of slow and pompous gravity, giving his opinion with 
great confidence to a crowd of old women and idle boys. 
At another place was a knot of old weather-beaten fel- 
lows, who had been seamen or fishermen in their times, 
and were great authorities on such occasions ; these gave 
different opinions, and caused great disputes among their 
several adherents : but the man most looked up to, and 
followed and watched by the crowd, was Hans Van Pelt, 
an old Dutch sea-captain retired from service, the nau- 
tical oracle of the place. He reconnoitred the ship 
through an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas, 
hummed a Dutch tune to himself, and said nothing. A 
hum, however, from Hans Van Pelt, had always more 
weight with the public than a speech from another 
man. 

In the meantime the ship became more distinct to the 
naked eye: she was a stout, round, Dutch-built vessel, 
with high bow and poop, and bearing Dutch colors. The 
evening sun gilded her bellying canvas, as she came rid- 
ing over the long waving billows. The sentinel who had 
given notice of her approach, declared, that he first got 
sight of her when she was in the centre of the bay ; and 
that she broke suddenly on his sight, just as if she had 
come out of the bosom of the black thunder-cloud. The 
by-standers looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what he 
would say to ;this report : Hans Van Pelt screwed his 



THE ST0BM-8EIP. 507 

moutli closer together, and said notliing; upon whicli 
some shook their heads, and others shrugged their shoul- 
ders. 

The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made no re- 
ply, and passing by the fort, stood on up the Hudson. 
A gun was brought to bear on her, and, with some diffi- 
culty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, the garrison 
not being expert in artillery. The shot seemed abso- 
lutely to pass through the ship, and to skip along the 
water on the other side, but no notice was taken of it ! 
"What was strange, she had all her sails set, and sailed 
right against wind and tide, which were both down the 
river. Upon this Hans Yan Pelt, who was likewise har- 
bor-master, ordered his boat, and set off to board her ; 
but after rowing two or three hours, he returned without 
success. Sometimes he would get within one or two 
hundred yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, she 
would be half a mile off. Some said it was because his 
oarsmen, who were rather pursy and short-winded, 
stopped every now and then to take breath, and spit 
on their hands; but this it is probable was a mere 
scandal. He got near enough, however, to see the crew ; 
who were all dressed in the Dutch style, the officers in 
doublets and high hats and feathers; not a word was 
spoken by any one on board ; they stood as motionless 
as so many statues, and the ship seemed as if left to her 
own government. Thus she kept on, away up the river, 
lessening and lessening in the evening sunshine, until 



508 BRAGEBRIDGE HALL. 

she faded from sight, like a little white cloud melting 
away in the summer sky. 

The appearance of this ship threw the governor into 
one of the deepest doubts that ever beset him in the 
whole course of his administration. Fears were enter- 
tained for the security of the infant settlements on the 
river, lest this might be an enemy's ship in disguise, sent 
to take possession. The governor called together his 
council repeatedly to assist him with their conjectures. 
He sat in his chair of state, built of timber from the 
sacred forest of the Hague, smoking his long jasmin 
pipe, and listening to all that his counsellors had to say 
on a subject about which they knew nothing; but in 
spite of all the conjecturing of the sagest and oldest 
heads, the governor still continued to doubt. 

Messengers were dispatched to different places on the 
river ; but they returned without any tidings — the ship 
had made no port. Day after day, and week after week, 
elapsed, but she never returned down the Hudson. As, 
however, the council seemed solicitous for intelligence, 
they had it in abundance. The captains of the sloops 
seldom arrived without bringing some report of having 
seen the strange ship at different parts of the river; 
sometimes near the Pallisadoes, sometimes off Croton 
Point, and sometimes in the highlands; but she never 
was reported as having been seen above the highlands. 
The crews of the sloops, it is true, generally differed 
among themselves in their accounts of these apparitions ; 



THE STORM- SHIP. 509 

but that may have arisen from the uncertain situations in 
which they saw her. Sometimes it was by the flashes of 
the thunder-storm lighting up a pitchy night, and giving 
glimpses of her careering across Tappaan Zee, or the 
wide waste of Haverstraw Bay. At one moment she 
would appear close upon them, as if likely to run them 
down, and would throw them into great bustle and 
alarm ; but the next flash would show her far off, always 
sailing against the wind. Sometimes, in quiet moon- 
light nights, she would be seen under some high bluff 
of the highlands, all in deep shadow, excepting her top- 
sails glittering in the moonbeams ; by the time, however, 
that the voyagers reached the place, no ship was to be 
seen ; and when they had passed on for some distance, 
and looked back, behold ! there she was again, with her 
topsails in the moonshine ! Her appearance was always 
just after, or just before, or just in the midst of unruly 
weather; and she was known among the skippers and 
voyagers of the Hudson by the name of "the storm- 
ship." 

These reports perplexed the governor and his council 
more than ever ; and it would be endless to repeat the 
conjectures and opinions uttered on the subject. Some 
quoted cases in point, of ships seen off the coast of New 
England, navigated by witches and goblins. Old Hans 
Van Pelt, who had been more than once to the Dutch 
colony at the Cape of Good Hope, insisted that this must 
be the flying Dutchman, which had so long haunted 



510 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

Table Bay; but being unable to make port, had now 
sought another harbor. Others suggested, that, if it 
really was a supernatural apparition, as there was every 
natural reason to believe, it might be Hendrick Hudson, 
and his crew of the Halfmoon ; who, it was well known, 
had once run aground in the upper part of the river in 
seeking a northwest passage to China. This opinion had 
very little weight with the governor, but it passed cur- 
rent out of doors ; for indeed it had already been re- 
ported, that Hendrick Hudson and his crew haunted 
the Kaatskill Mountains ; and it appeared very reasona- 
ble to suppose, that his ship might infest the river where 
the enterprise was baffled, or that it might bear the 
shadowy crew to their periodical revels in the mountain. 

Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts and 
doubts of the sage Wouter and his council, and the 
storm-ship ceased to be a subject of deliberation at the 
board. It continued, however, a matter of popular belief 
and marvellous anecdote through the whole time of the 
Dutch government, and particularly just before the cap- 
ture of New Amsterdam, and the subjugation of the 
province by the English squadron. About that time the 
storm-ship was repeatedly seen in the Tappaan Zee, and 
about Weehawk, and even down as far as Hoboken ; and 
her appearance was supposed to be ominous of the ap- 
proaching squall in public affairs, and the downfall of 
Dutch domination. 

Since that time we have no authentic accounts of her ; 



TEE 8T0BM-8HIP. 511 

thougli it is said she still haunts the highlands, and 
cruises about Point-no-point. People who live along the 
river insist that they sometimes see her in summer moon- 
light ; and that in a deep still midnight they have heard 
the chant of her crew, as if heaving the lead ; but sights 
and sounds are so deceptive along the mountainous 
shores, and about the wide bays and long reaches of this 
great river, that I confess I have very strong doubts upon 
the subject. 

It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things have 
been seen in these highlands in storms, which are con- 
sidered as connected with the old story of the ship. The 
captains of the river craft talk of a little bulbous-bot- 
tomed Dutch goblin, in trunk-hose and sugar-loafed hat, 
with a speaking-trumpet in his hand, which they say 
keeps about the Dunderberg.* They declare that they 
have heard him, in stormy weather, in the midst of the 
turmoil, giving orders in Low Dutch for the piping up of 
a fresh gust of wind, or the rattling off of another thun- 
der-clap. That sometimes he has been seen surrounded 
by a crew of little imps in broad breeches and short 
doublets ; tumbling head-over-heels in the rack and mist, 
and playing a thousand gambols in the air ; or buzzing 
like a swarm of flies about Antony's Nose ; and that, at 
such times, the hurry-scurry of the storm was always 
greatest. One time a sloop, in passing by the Dunder- 

* i. e.. The " Thunder-Mountain," so called from its echoes. 



512 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

berg, was OTertaken by a tliunder-gust, that came scour- 
ing round tlie mountain, and seemed to burst just over 
the vessel. Though tight and well ballasted, she labored 
dreadfully, and the water came over the gunwale. All 
the crew were amazed when it was discovered that there 
was a little white sugar-loaf hat on the mast-head, known 
at once to be the hat of the Heer of the Dunderberg. 
Nobody, however, dared to climb to the mast-head, and 
get rid of this terrible hat. The sloop continued laboring 
and rocking, as if she would have rolled her mast over- 
board, and seemed in continual danger either of upset- 
ting or of running on shore. In this way she drove quite 
through the highlands, until she had passed Pollopol's 
Island, where, it is said, the jurisdiction of the Dunder- 
berg potentate ceases. No sooner had she passed this 
bourn, than the little hat spun up into the air like a top, 
whirled up all the clouds into a vortex, and hurried them 
back to the summit of the Dunderberg ; while the sloop 
righted herself, and sailed on as quietly as if in a mill- 
pond. Nothing saved her from utter wreck but the for- 
. tunate circumstance of having a horse-shoe nailed against 
the mast, — a wise precaution against evil spirits, since 
adopted by all the Dutch captains that navigate this 
haunted river. 

There is another story told of this foul-weather urchin, 
by Skipper Daniel Ouselsticker, of Fishkill, who was 
never known to tell a lie. He declared, that, in a severe 
squall, he saw him seated astride of his bowsprit, riding 



THE STORM-SHIP. 513 

the sloop ashore, full butt against Antony's Nose, and 
that he was exorcised by Dominie Van Gieson, of Esopus, 
who happened to be on board, and who sang the hymn of 
St. Nicholas ; whereupon the goblin threw himself up in 
the air like a ball, and went off in a whirlwind, carry- 
ing away with him the nightcap of the Dominie's wife ; 
which was discovered the next Sunday morning hanging 
on the weather-cock of Esopus church-steeple, at least 
forty miles off ! Several events of this kind having taken 
place, the regular skippers of the river, for a long time, 
did not venture to pass the Dunderberg without lowering 
their peaks, out of homage to the Heer of the mountain ; 
and it was observed that all such as paid this tribute of 
respect were suffered to pass unmolested.* 

* Among the superstitions which prevailed in the colonies, during the 
early times of the settlements, there seems to have been a singular one 
about phantom ships. The superstitious fancies of men are always apt to 
turn upon those objects which concern their daily occupations. The soli- 
tary ship, which, from year to year, came like a raven in the wilderness, 
bringing to the inhabitants of a settlement the comforts of life from the 
world from which they were cut ofE, was apt to be present to their dreams, 
whether sleeping or waking. The accidental sight from shore of a sail 
gliding along the horizon in those as yet lonely seas, was apt to be a mat- 
ter of much talk and speculation. There is mention made in one of the 
early New England writers of a ship navigated by witches, with a great 
horse that stood by the mainmast. I have met with another story, some- 
where, of a ship that drove on shore, in fair, sunny, tranquil weather, 
with sails all set, and a table spread in the cabin, as if to regale a number 
of guests, yet not a living being on board. These phantom ships always 
sailed in the eye of the wind ; or ploughed their way with great velocity, 
making the smooth sea foam before their bows, when not a breath of air 
was stirring. 

Moore has finely wrought up one of these legends of the sea into a little 
33 



514 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

" Such," said Antony Yander Heyden, " are a few of 
tlie stories written down by Selyne, the poet, concerning 
the storm-ship, — which he affirms to have brought a 
crew of mischievous imps into the province, from some 
old ghost-ridden country of Europe. I could give a host 
more, if necessary ; for all the accidents that so often be- 
fall the river craft in the highlands are said to be tricks 
played off by these imps of the Dunderberg ; but I see 
that you are nodding, so let us turn in for the night." 

The moon had just raised her silver horns above the 
round back of Old Bull Hill, and lit up the gray rocks 
and shagged forests, and glittered on the waving bosom 
of the river. The night-dew was falling, and the late 
gloomy mountains began to soften and put on a gray 
aerial tint in the dewy light. The hunters stirred the 
fire, and threw on fresh fuel to qualify the damp of the 
night-air. They then prepared a bed of branches and 
dry leaves under a ledge of rocks for Dolph ; while An- 
tony Vander Heyden, wrapping himself in a huge coat of 
skins, stretched himself before the fire. It was some 
time, however, before Dolph could close his eyes. He 
lay contemplating the strange scene before him : the wild 
woods and rocks around ; the fire throwing fitful gleams 
on the faces of the sleeping savages ; and the Heer An- 

tale, which, within a small compass, contains the very essence of this species 
of supernatural fiction. I allude to his Spectre Ship, bound to Deadman's 
Isle. 



DOLPR HEYLiaEB. 515 

tony, too, who so singularly, yet vaguely, reminded him 
of the nightly visitant to the haunted house. Now and 
then he heard the cry of some wild animal from the 
forest; or the hooting of the owl; or the notes of the 
whippoorwill, which seemed to abound among these 
solitudes; or the splash of a sturgeon, leaping out of 
the river and falling back full-length on its placid sur- 
face. He contrasted all this with his accustomed nest 
in the garret-room of the doctor's mansion ; — where the 
only sounds at night were the church-clock telling the 
hour ; the drowsy voice of the watchman, drawling out 
all was well ; the deep snoring of the doctor's clubbed 
nose from below-stairs ; or the cautious labors of some 
carpenter rat gnawing in the wainscot. His thoughts 
then wandered to his poor old mother : what would she 
think of his mysterious disappearance — what anxiety and 
distress would she not suffer ? This thought would con- 
tinually intrude itself to mar his present enjoyment. It 
brought with it a feeling of pain and compunction, and 
he fell asleep with the tears yet standing in his eyes. 

Were this a mere tale of fancy, here would be a fine 
opportunity for weaving in strange adventures among 
these wild mountains, and roving hunters ; and, after in- 
volving my hero in a variety of perils and difficulties, 
rescuing him from them all by some miraculous contriv- 
ance ; but as this is absolutely a true story, I must con- 
tent myself with simple facts, and keep to probabilities. 

At an early hour of the next day, therefore, after a 



516 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

hearty morning's meal, tlie encampment broke up, and 
our adventurers embarked in tbe pinnace of Antony 
Yander Heyden. There being no wind for the sails, the 
Indians rowed her gently along, keeping time to a kind 
of chant of one of the white men. The day was serene 
and beautiful ; the river without a wave ; and as the 
vessel cleft the glassy water, it left a long, undulating 
track behind. The crows, who had scented the hunters' 
banquet, were already gathering and hovering in the air, 
just where a column of thin, blue smoke, rising from 
among the trees showed the place of their last night's 
quarters. As they coasted along the bases of the moun- 
tains, the Heer Antony pointed out to Dolph a bald 
eagle, the sovereign of these regions, who sat perched on 
a dry tree that projected over the river, and, with eye 
turned upwards, seemed to be drinking in the splendor 
of the morning sun. Their approach disturbed the 
monarch's meditations. He first spread one wing, and 
then the other; balanced himself for a moment; and 
then, quitting his perch with dignified composure, 
wheeled slowly over their heads. Dolph snatched up a 
gun, and sent a whistling ball after him, that cut some of 
the feathers from his wing ; the report of the gun leaped 
sharply from rock to rock, and awakened a thousand 
echoes ; but the monarch of the air sailed calmly on, 
ascending higher and higher, and wheeling widely as he 
ascended, soaring up the green bosom of . the woody 
mountain, until he disappeared over the brow of a beet- 



DOLPH HETLIGEB. 5I7 

ling precipice. Dolpli felt in a manner rebuked by this 
proud tranquillity, and almost reproached himself for 
having so wantonly insulted this majestic bird. Heer 
Antony told him, laughing, to remember that he was not 
yet out of the territories of the lord of the Dunderberg ; 
and an old Indian shook his head, and observed, that 
there was bad luck in killing an eagle ; the hunter, on 
the contrary, should always leave him a portion of his 
spoils. 

Nothing, however, occurred to molest them on their 
voyage. They passed pleasantly through magnificent 
and lonely scenes, until they came to where Pollopol's 
Island lay, like a floating bower at the extremity of the 
highlands. Here they landed, until the heat of the day 
should abate, or a breeze spring up that might supersede 
the labor of the oar. Some prepared the mid-day meal, 
while others reposed under the shade of the trees, in 
luxurious summer indolence, looking drowsily forth upon 
the beauty of the scene. On the one side were the 
highlands, vast and cragged, feathered to the top with 
forests, and throwing their shadows on the glassy water 
that dimpled at their feet. On the other side was a wide 
expanse of the river, like a broad lake, with long sunny 
reaches, and green headlands; and the distant line of 
Shawangunk mountains waving along a clear horizon, or 
checkered by a fleecy cloud. 

But I forbear to dwell on the particulars of their 
cruise along the river; this vagrant, amphibious life, 



518 BRACEBRinaE HALL. 

careering across silver sheets of water ; coasting wild 
woodland shores ; banqueting on shady promontories, 
with the spreading tree overhead, the river curling its 
light foam to one's feet, and distant mountain, and rock, 
and tree, and snowj cloud, and deep-blue sky, all min- 
gling in summer beauty before one ; all this, though 
never cloying in the enjoyment, would be but tedious in 
narration. 

When encamped by the water-side, some of the party 
would go into the woods and hunt ; others would fish : 
sometimes they would amuse themselves by shooting at 
a mark, by leaping, by running, by wrestling ; and Dolph 
gained great favor in the eyes of Antony Vander Heyden, 
by his skill and adroitness in all these exercises ; which 
the Heer considered as the highest of manly accomplish- 
ments. 

Thus did they coast joUily on, choosing only the pleas- 
ant hours for voyaging; sometimes in the cool morning 
dawn, sometimes in the sober evening twilight, and some- 
times when the moonshine spangled the crisp curling 
waves that whispered along the sides of their little bark. 
Never had Dolph felt so completely in his element ; never 
had he met with anything so completely to his taste as 
this wild hap-hazard life. He was the very man to second 
Antony Yander Heyden in his rambling humors, and 
gained continually on his affections. The heart of the old 
bushwhacker yearned toward the young man, who seemed 
thus growing - up in his own likeness ; and as they ap- 



BOLPH EEYLIGEB. 519 

proaclied to the end of their voyage, lie could not help 
inquiring a little into his history. Dolph frankly told 
him his course of life, his severe medical studies, his lit- 
tle proj6.ciency, and his very dubious prospects. The 
Heer was shocked to find that such amazing talents and 
accomplishments were to be cramped and buried under a 
doctor's wig. He had a sovereign contempt for the heal- 
ing art, having never had any other physician than the 
butcher. He bore a mortal grudge to all kinds of study 
also, ever since he had been flogged about an unintelli- 
gible book when he was a boy. But to think that a 
young fellow like Dolph, of such wonderful abilities, who 
could shoot, fish, run, jump, ride, and wrestle, should be 
obliged to roll pills, and administer juleps for a living — 
'twas monstrous ! He told Dolph never to despair, but 
to " throw physic to the dogs " ; for a young fellow of 
his prodigious talents could never fail to make his way. 
" As you seem to have no acquaintance in Albany," said 
Heer Antony, " you shall go home with me, and remain 
under my roof until you can look about you ; and in the 
meantime we can take an occasional bout at shooting and 
fishing, for it is a pity that such talents should lie idle." 

Dolph, who was at the mercy of chance, was not hard 
to be persuaded. Indeed, on turning over matters in his 
mind, which he did very sagely and deliberately, he 
could not but think that Antony Yander Heyden was, 
" somehow or other," connected with the story of the 
Haunted House ; that the misadventure in the highlands, 



520 BRACEBBIDGE HALL. 

whicli liad thrown them so strangely together, was, 
" somehow or other," to work out something good : in 
short, there is nothing so convenient as this " somehow- 
or-other " Way of accommodating one's self to circum- 
stances ; it is the mainstay of a heedless actor, and tardy 
reasoner, like Dolph Heyliger ; and he who can, in this 
loose, easy way, link foregone evil fco anticipated good, 
possesses a secret of happiness almost equal to the phi- 
losopher's stone. 

On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph's com- 
panion seemed to cause universal satisfaction. Many 
were the greetings at the river-side, and the salutations 
in the streets ; the dogs bounded before him ; the boys 
whooped as he passed ; everybody seemed to know An- 
tony Vander Heyden. Dolph followed on in silence, ad- 
miring the neatness of this worthy burgh ; for in those 
days Albany was in all its glory, and inhabited almost ex- 
clusively by the descendants of the original Dutch set- 
tlers, not having as yet been discovered and colonized by 
the restless people of New England. Everything was 
quiet and orderly ; everything was conducted calmly and 
leisurely; no hurry, no bustle, no struggling and scram- 
bling for existence. The grass grew about the unpaved 
streets, and relieved the eye by its refreshing verdure. 
Tall sycamores or pendent willows shaded the houses, 
with caterpillars swinging, in long silken strings, from 
their branches ; or moths, fluttering about like coxcombs, 
in joy at their gay transformation. The houses were 



DOLPH HEYLIGEB. 521 

built in the old Dutch, style, with the gable-ends towards 
the street. The thrifty housewife was seated on a bench 
before her door, in close-crimped cap, bright-flowered 
gown, and white apron, busily employed in knitting. 
The husband smoked his pipe on the opposite bench; 
and the little pet negro girl, seated on the step at her 
mistress's feet, was industriously plying her needle. 
The swallows sported about the eaves, or skimmed along 
the streets, and brought back some rich booty for their 
clamorous young ; and the little housekeeping wren flew 
in and out of a Liliputian house, or an old hat nailed 
against the wall. The cows were coming home, lowing 
through the streets, to be milked at their owner's door; 
and if, perchance, there were any loiterers, some negro 
urchin, with a long goad, was gently urging them home- 
wards. 

As Dolph's companion passed on, he received a tran- 
quil nod from the burghers, and a friendly word from 
their wives; all calling him familiarly by the name of 
Antony ; for it was the custom in this stronghold of the 
patriarchs, where they had all grown up together from 
childhood, to call each other by the Christian name. 
The Heer did not pause to have his usual jokes with 
them, for he was impatient to reach his home. At length 
they arrived at his mansion. It was of some magnitude, 
in the Dutch style, with large iron figures on the gables, 
that gave the date of its erection, and showed that it had 
been built in the earliest times of the settlement. 



522 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

The news of Heer Antony's arrival had preceded him, 
and the whole household was on the look-out. A crew 
of negroes, large and small, had collected in front of the 
house to receive him. The old, white-headed ones, who 
had grown gray in his service, grinned for joy, and made 
many awkward bows and grimaces, and the little ones 
capered about his knees. But the most happy being in 
the household was a little, plump, blooming lass, his 
only child, and the darling of his heart. She came 
bounding out of the house ; but the sight of a strange 
young man with her father called up, for a moment, all 
the bashfulness of a homebred damsel. Dolph gazed at 
her with wonder and delight ; never had he seen, as he 
thought, anything so comely in the shape of a woman. 
She was dressed in the good old Dutch taste, with long 
stays, and full, short petticoats, so admirably adapted to 
show and set off the female form. Her hair, turned up 
under a small round cap, displayed the fairness of her 
forehead ; she had fine, blue, laughing eyes, a trim, 
slender waist, and soft swell — but, in a word, she was a 
little Dutch divinity ; and Dolph, who never stopped 
half-way in a new impulse, fell desperately in love with 
her. 

Dolph was now ushered into the house with a hearty 
welcome. In the interior was a mingled display of Heer 
Antony's taste and habits, and of the opulence of his 
predecessors. The chambers were furnished with good 
old mahogany ; the beaufets and cupboards glittered 



DOLPM HEYLIGEB. 523 

witli embossed silver and painted cliina. Over the par- 
lor fireplace was, as usual, the family coat of arms, 
painted and framed ; above whicb was a long duck fowl- 
ing-piece, flanked by an Indian pouch, and a powder- 
horn. The room was decorated with many Indian arti- 
cles, such as pipes of peace, tomahawks, scalping-knives, 
hunting-pouches, and belts of wampum ; and there were 
various kinds of fishing-tackle, and two or three fowling- 
pieces in the corners. The household affairs seemed to 
be conducted, in some measure, after the master's hu- 
mors ; corrected, perhaps, by a little quiet management 
of the daughter's. There was a great degree of patri- 
archal simplicity, and good-humored indulgence. The 
negroes came into the room without being called, merely 
to look at their master, and hear of his adventures ; they 
would stand listening at the door until he had finished a 
story, and then go off on a broad grin, to repeat it in the 
kitchen. A couple of pet negro children were playing 
about the floor with the dogs, and sharing with them 
their bread and butter. All the domestics looked hearty 
and happy ; and when the table was set for the evening 
repast, the variety and abundance of good household 
luxuries bore testimony to the open-handed liberality of 
the Heer, and the notable housewifery of his daughter. 

In the evening there dropped in several of the wor- 
thies of the place, the Van Benssellaers, and the Ganse- 
voorts, and the Rosebooms, and others of Antony Vander 
Heyden's intimates, to hear an account of his expedition ; 



524 BBAGEBBIBGE HALL. 

for lie was the Sinbad of Albany, and liis exploits and 
adventures were favorite topics of conversation among 
tbe inhabitants. While these sat gossiping together 
about the door of the hall, and telling long twilight sto- 
ries, Dolph was cosily seated, entertaining the daughter, 
on a window-bench. He had already got on intimate 
terms ; for those were not times of false reserve and idle 
ceremony ; and, besides, there is something wonderfully 
propitious to a lover's suit in the delightful dusk of a 
long summer evening ; it gives courage to the most timid 
tongue, and hides the blushes of the bashful. The stars 
alone twinkled brightly ; and now and then a fire-fly 
streamed his transient light before the window, or, wan- 
dering into the room, flew gleaming about the ceiling. 

What Dolph whispered in her ear that long summer 
evening, it is impossible to say ; his words were so low 
and indistinct, that they never reached the ear of the 
historian. It is probable, however, that they were to 
the purpose ; for he had a natural talent at pleasing the 
sex, and was never long in company with a petticoat 
without paying proper court to it. In the meantime 
the visitors, one by one, departed ; Antony Yander Hey- 
den, who had fairly talked himself silent, sat nodding 
alone in his chair by the door, when he was suddenly 
aroused by a hearty salute with which Dolph Heyliger 
had unguardedly rounded off one of his periods, and 
which echoed through the still chamber like the report 
of a pistol. Th^ Heer started up, rubbed his eyes, called 



DOLPH HEYLIGEB. 625 

for lights, and observed tliat it was high time to go to 
bed ; though, on parting for the night, he squeezed Dolph 
heartily by the hand, looked kindly in his face, and shook 
his head knowingly ; for the Heer well remembered what 
he himself had been at the youngster's age. 

The chamber in which our hero was lodged was spa- 
cious, and panelled with oak. It was furnished with 
clothes-presses, and mighty chests of drawers, well 
waxed, and glittering with brass ornaments. These con- 
tained ample stock of family linen ; for the Dutch house- 
wives had always a laudable pride in showing off their 
household treasures to strangers. 

Dolph's mind, however, was too full to take particular 
note of the objects around him ; yet he could not help 
continually comparing the free open-hearted cheeriness 
of this establishment with the starveling, sordid, joyless 
housekeeping at Doctor Knipperhausen's. Still some- 
thing marred the enjoyment : the idea that he must take 
leave of his hearty host, and pretty hostess, and cast him- 
self once more adrift upon the world. To linger here 
would be folly : he should only get deeper in love ; and 
for a poor varlet, like himself, to aspire to the daughter 
of the great Heer Yander Heyden — it was madness to 
think of such a thing ! The very kindness that the girl 
had shown towards him prompted him, on reflection, to 
hasten his departure ; it would be a poor return for the 
frank hospitality of his host to entangle his daughter's 
heart in an injudicious attachment. In a word, Dolph 



526 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

was like many other young reasoners of exceeding good 
hearts and giddy heads, — who think after they act, and 
act differently from what they think, — who make excel- 
lent determinations overnight, and forget to keep them 
the next morning. 

" This is a j&ne conclusion, truly, of my voyage," said 
he, as he almost buried himself in a sumptuous feather- 
bed, and drew the fresh white sheets up to his chin. 
" Here am I, instead of finding a bag of money to carry 
home, launched in a strange place, with scarcely a stiver 
in my pocket ; and, what is worse, have jumped ashore 
up to my very ears in love into the bargain. However," 
added he, after some pause, stretching himself, and turn- 
himself in bed, " I'm in good quarters for the present, at 
least ; so I'll e'en enjoy the present moment, and let the 
next take care of itself; I dare say all will work out, 
* somehow or other,' for the best." 

As he said these words, he reached out his hand to ex- 
tinguish the candle, when he was suddenly struck with 
astonishment and dismay, for he thought he beheld the 
phantom of the haunted house, staring on him from a 
dusky part of the chamber. A second look reassured 
him, as he perceived that what he had taken for the spec- 
tre was, in fact, nothing but a Flemish portrait, hanging 
in a shadowy corner, just behind a clothes-press. It was, 
however, the precise representation of his nightly visitor. 
The same cloak and belted jerkin, the same grizzled 
beard and fixed eye, the same broad slouched hat, with a 



DOLPH EEYLIGEB. 627 

feather hanging over one side. Dolpli now called to mind 
the resemblance he had frequently remarked between his 
host and the old man of the haunted house ; and was 
fully convinced they were in some way connected, and 
that some especial destiny had governed his voyage. He 
lay gazing on the portrait with almost as much awe as he 
had gazed on the ghostly original, until the shrill house- 
clock warned him of the lateness of the hour. He put 
out the light ; but remained for a long time turning over 
these curious circumstances and coincidences in his mind, 
until he fell asleep. His dreams partook of the nature of 
his waking thoughts. He fancied that he still lay gazing 
on the picture, until, by degrees, it became animated ; 
that the figure descended from the wall, and walked out 
of the room ; that he followed it, and found himself by 
the well to which the old man pointed, smiled on him, 
and disappeared. 

In the morning, when he waked, he found his host 
standing by his bedside, who gave him a hearty morn- 
ing's salutation, and asked him how he had slept, Dolph 
answered cheerily; but took occasion to inquire about 
the portrait that hung against the wall. "Ah," said Heer 
Antony, " that's a portrait of old Killian Yander Spiegel, 
once a burgomaster of Amsterdam, who, on some popular 
troubles, abandoned Holland, and came over to the pro- 
vince during the government of Peter Stuyvesant. He 
was my ancestor by the mother's side, and an old miserly 
curmudgeon he was. "When the English took possession 



528 BBAGEBRIDGE HALL. 

of New Amsterdam, in 1664, he retired into the country. 
He fell into a melancholy, apprehending that his wealth 
would be taken from him and he come to beggary. He 
turned all his property into cash, and used to hide it 
away. He was for a year or two concealed in various 
places, fancying himself sought after by the English, to 
strip him of his wealth ; and finally he was found dead in 
his bed one morning, without any one being able to dis- 
cover where he had concealed the greater part of his 
money." 

"When his host had left the room, Dolph remained for 
some time lost in thought. His whole mind was occu- 
pied by what he had heard. Vander Spiegel was his 
mother's family name ; and he recollected to have heard 
her speak of this very Killian Yander Spiegel as one of 
her ancestors. He had heard her say, too, that her father 
was Killian's rightful heir, only that the old man died 
without leaving anything to be inherited. It now ap- 
peared that Heer Antony was likewise a descendant, and 
perhaps an heir also, of this poor rich man ; and that 
thus the Heyligers and the Vander Heydens were re- 
motely connected. "What," thought he, "if, after all, 
this is the interpretation of my dream, that this is the 
way I am to make my fortune by this voyage to Albany, 
and that I am to find the old man's hidden wealth in the 
bottom of that well ? But what an odd roundabout mode 
of communicating the matter! Why the plague could 
not the old goblin have told me about the well at once, 



DOLPH HEYLIGER. 529 

witlioTit sending me all the way to Albany, to hear a 
story that was to send me all the way back again ? " 

These thoughts passed through his mind while he was 
dressing. He descended the stairs, full of perplexity, 
when the bright face of Marie Vander Heyden suddenly 
beamed in smiles upon him, and seemed to give him a 
clue to the whole mystery. "After all," thought he, 
"the old goblin is in the right. If I am to get his 
wealth, he means that I shall marry his pretty descend- 
ant ; thus both branches of the family will again be 
united, and the property go on in the proper channel."" 

No sooner did this idea enter his head, than it carried 
conviction with it. He was now all impatience to hurry 
back and secure the treasure, which, he did not doubt, 
lay at the bottom of the well, and which he feared every 
moment might be discovered by some other person. 
" Who knows," thought he, " but this night-walking old 
fellow of the haunted house may be in the habit of 
haunting every visitor, and may give a hint to some 
shrewder fellow than myself, who will take a shorter 
cut to the well than by the way of Albany?" He wished 
a thousand times that the babbling old ghost was laid in 
the B-ed Sea, and his rambling portrait with him. He 
was in a perfect fever to depart. Two or three days 
elapsed before any opportunity presented for returning 
down the river. They were ages to Dolph, notwith- 
standing that he was basking in the smiles of the pretty 

Marie, and daily getting more and more enamoured. 
34 



530 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 

At length the very sloop from which he had been 
knocked overboard prepared to make sail. Dolph made 
an awkward apology to his host for his sudden depar- 
ture. Antony Yander Heyden was sorely astonished. 
He had concerted half a dozen excursions into the wil- 
derness ; and his Indians were actually preparing for a 
grand expedition to one of the lakes. He took Dolph 
aside, and exerted his eloquence to get him to abandon 
all thoughts of business and to remain with him, but in 
vain ; and he at length gave up the attempt, observing, 
"that it was a thousand pities so fine a young man 
should throw himself away." Heer Antony, however, 
gave him a hearty shake by the hand at parting, with a 
favorite fowling-piece, and an invitation to come to his 
house whenever he revisited Albany. The pretty little 
Marie said nothing ; but as he gave her a farewell kiss, 
her dimpled cheek turned pale, and a tear stood in her 
eye. 

Dolph sprang lightly on board of the vessel. They 
hoisted sail ; the wind was fair ; they soon lost sight of 
Albany, its green hills and embowered islands. They 
were wafted gayly past the Kaatskill Mountains, whose 
fairy heights were bright and cloudless. They passed 
prosperously through the highlands, without any moles- 
tation from the Dunderberg goblin and his crew ; they 
swept on across Haverstraw Bay, and by Croton Point, 
and through the Tappaan Zee, and under the Palisadoes, 
until, in the afternoon of the third day, they saw the 



DOLPH HETLIGEB. 531 

promontory of Hoboken hanging like a cloud in the air ; 
and, shortly after, the roofs of the Manhattoes rising out 
of the water. 

Dolph's first care was to repair to his mother's house ; 
for he was continually goaded by the idea of the uneasi- 
ness she must experience on his account. He was puz- 
zling his brains, as he went along, to think how he 
should account for his absence without betraying the 
secrets of the haunted house. In the midst of these cogi- 
tations he entered the street in which his mother's house 
was situated, when he was thunderstruck at beholding it 
a heap of ruins. 

There had evidently been a great fire, which had de- 
stroyed several large houses, and the humble dwelling of 
poor Dame Heyliger had been involved in the conflagra- 
tion. The walls were not so completely destroyed, but 
that Dolph could distinguish some traces of the scene of 
his childhood. The fireplace, about which he had often 
played, still remained, ornamented with Dutch tiles, il- 
lustrating passages in Bible history, on which he had 
many a time gazed with admiration. Among the rubbish 
lay the wreck of the good dame's elbow-chair, from 
which she had given him so many a wholesale precept ; 
and hard by it was the family Bible, with brass clasps ; 
now, alas ! reduced almost to a cinder. 

For a moment Dolph was overcome by this dismal 
sight, for he was seized with the fear that his mother 
had perished in the flames. He was relieved, however, 



532 BRAOEBBIDGE HALL. 

from his horrible apprehension by one of the neighbors, 
who happened to come by and informed him that his 
mother was yet alive. 

The good woman had, indeed, lost everything by this 
unlooked-for calamity ; for the populace had been so in- 
tent upon saving the fine furniture of her rich neighbors, 
that the little tenement, and the little all of poor Dame 
Heyliger, had been suffered to consume without inter- 
ruption ; nay, had it not been for the gallant assistance 
of her old crony, Peter de Groodt, the worthy dame and 
her cat might have shared the fate of their habitation. 

As it was, she had been overcome with fright and af- 
fliction, and lay ill in body and sick at heart. The 
public, however, had showed her its wonted kindness. 
The furniture of her rich neighbors being, as far as pos- 
sible rescued from the flames ; themselves duly and cere- 
moniously visited and condoled with on the injury of 
their property, and their ladies commiserated on the 
agitation of their nerves ; the public, at length, began to 
recollect something about poor Dame Heyliger. She 
forthwith became again a subject of universal sympathy ; 
everybody pitied her more than ever ; and if pity could 
but have been coined into cash — good Lord! how rich 
she would have been! 

It was now determined, in good earnest, that some- 
thing ought to be done for her without delay. The Domi- 
nie, therefore, put up prayers for her on Sunday, in which 
all the congregation joined most heartily. Even Cobus 



DOLPH HETLIGEB. 533 

Groesbeek, tlie alderman, and Mynheer MilledoUar, tlie 
great Dutch, merchant, stood up in their pews, and did 
not spare their voices on the occasion ; and it was 
thought the prayers of such great men could not but 
have their due weight. Doctor Knipperhausen, too, 
visited her professionally, and gave her abundance of ad- 
vice gratis, and was universally lauded for his charity. 
As to her old friend, Peter de Groodt, he was a poor 
man, whose pity, and prayers, and advice could be of but 
little avail, so he gave her all that was in his power — he 
gave her shelter. 

To the humble dwelling of Peter de Groodt, then, did 
Dolph turn his steps. On his way thither he recalled all 
the tenderness and kindness of his simple-hearted par- 
ent, her indulgence of his errors, her blindness to his 
faults ; and then he bethought himself of his own idle, 
harum-scarum life. "I've been a sad scapegrace," said 
Dolph, shaking his head sorrowfully. "I've been a 
complete sink-pocket, that's the truth of it. — But," added 
he briskly, and clasping his hands, " only let her live — 
only let her live — and I will show myself indeed a son ! " 

As Dolph approached the house he met Peter de 
Groodt coming out of it. The old man started back 
aghast, doubting whether it was not a ghost that stood 
before him. It being bright daylight, however, Peter 
soon plucked up heart, satisfied that no ghost dare show 
his face in such clear sunshine. Dolph now learned 
from the worthy sexton the consternation and rumor to 



534 BBAGEBBIBGE HALL. 

wliicli liis mysterious disappearance liad given rise. It 
had been universally believed that lie had been spirited 
away by those hobgoblin gentry that infested the haunt- 
ed house ; and old Abraham Vandozer, who lived by the 
great buttonwood-trees, near the three-mile stone, af- 
firmed, that he had heard a terrible noise in the air, as 
he was going home late at night, which seemed just as if 
a flock of wild geese were overhead, passing off towards 
the northward. The haunted house was, in consequence, 
looked upon with ten times more awe than ever ; nobody 
would venture to pass a night in it for the world, and 
even the doctor had ceased to make his expeditions to 
it in the daytime. 

It required some preparation before Dolph's return 
could be made known to his mother, the poor soul hav- 
ing bewailed him as lost; and her spirits having been 
sorely broken down by a number of comforters, who 
daily cheered her with stories of ghosts, and of people 
carried away by the devil. He found her confined to 
her bed, with the other member of the Heyliger family, 
the good dame's cat, purring beside her, but sadly 
singed, and utterly despoiled of those whiskers which 
were the glory of her physiognomy. The poor woman 
threw her arms about Dolph's neck. " My boy ! my boy ! 
art thou still alive ? " For a time she seemed to have 
forgotten all her losses and troubles in her joy at his 
return. Even the sage grimalkin showed indubitable 
signs of joy at- the return of the youngster. She saw, 



DOLPH EETLIQEB. 535 

perhaps, that they were a forlorn and undone family, and 
felt a touch of that kindliness which fellow-sufferers only 
know. But, in truth, cats are a slandered people ; they 
have more affection in them than the world commonly 
gives them credit for. 

The good dame's eyes glistened as she saw one being 
at least, besides herself, rejoiced at her son's return. 
" Tib knows thee ! poor dumb beast ! " said she, smooth- 
ing down the mottled coat of her favorite ; then recollect- 
ing herself, with a melancholy shake of the head, " Ah, 
my poor Dolph ! " exclaimed she, " thy mother can help 
thee no longer ! She can no longer help herself ! "What 
will become of thee, my poor boy ! " 

" Mother," said Dolph, " don't talk in that strain ; I've 
been too long a charge upon you ; it's now my part to 
take care of you in your old days. Come ! be of good 
cheer ! you, and I, and Tib will all see better days. I'm 
here, you see, young, and sound, and hearty ; then don't 
let us despair; I dare say things will all, somehow or 
other, turn out for the best." 

While this scene was going on with the Heyliger 
family, the news was carried to Doctor Knipperhausen 
of the safe return of his disciple. The little doctor scarce 
knew whether to rejoice or be sorry at the tidings. He 
was happy at having the foul reports which had pre- 
vailed concerning his country mansion thus disproved ; 
but he grieved at having his disciple, of whom he had 
supposed himself fairly disencumbered, thus drifting 



636 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

back, a heavy charge upon his hands. While balancing 
between these two feelings, he was determined by the 
counsels of Frau Ilsy, who advised him to take advan- 
tage of the truant absence of the youngster, and shut the 
door upon him forever. 

At the hour of bedtime, therefore, when it was sup- 
posed the recreant disciple would seek his old quarters, 
everything was prepared for his reception. Dolph, hav- 
ing talked his mother into a state of tranquillity, sought 
the mansion of his quondam master, and raised the 
knocker with a faltering hand. Scarcely, however, had 
it given a dubious rap, when the doctor's head, in a red 
nightcap, popped out of one window, and the housekeep- 
er's, in a white nightcap, out of another. He was now 
greeted with a tremendous volley of hard names and hard 
language, mingled with invaluable pieces of advice, such 
as are seldom ventured to be given excepting to a friend 
in distress, or a culprit at the bar. In a few moments, 
not a window in the street but had its particular night- 
cap, listening to the shrill treble of Frau Ilsy, and the 
guttural croaking of Dr. Knipperhausen ; and the word 
went from window to window, " Ah ! here's Dolph Hey- 
liger come back, and at his old pranks again." In short, 
poor Dolph found he was likely to get nothing from the 
doctor but good advice ; a commodity so abundant as 
even to be thrown out of the window ; so he was fain to 
beat a retreat, and take up his quarters for the night 
under the lowly roof of honest Peter de Groodt. 



BOLPR EETLIQEE. 537 

The next morning, bright and early, Dolpli was out at 
the haunted house. Everything looked just as he had 
left it. The fields were grass-grown and matted, and ap- 
peared as if nobody had traversed them since his depar- 
ture. "With palpitating heart he hastened to the well. 
He looked down into it, and saw that it was of great 
depth, with water at the bottom. He had provided him- 
self with a strong line, such as the fishermen use on the 
banks of Newfoundland. At the end was a heavy plum- 
met and a large fish-hook. With this he began to sound 
the bottom of the well, and to angle about in the water. 
The water was of some depth ; there was also much rub- 
bish, stones from the top having fallen in. Several times 
his hook got entangled, and he came near breaking his 
line. Now and then, too, he hauled up mere trash, such 
as the skull of a horse, an iron hoop, and a shattered 
iron-bound bucket. He had now been several hours em- 
ployed without finding anything to repay his trouble, or 
to encourage him to proceed. He began to think himself 
a great fool, to be thus decoyed into a wild-goose chase 
by mere dreams, and was on the point of throwing line 
and all into the well, and giving up all further angling. 

" One more cast of the line," said he, " and that shall 
be the last." As he sounded, he felt the plummet slip, 
as it were, through the interstices of loose stones ; and as 
he drew back the line, he felt that the hook had taken 
hold of something heavy. He had to manage his line 
with great caution, lest it should be broken by the strain 



538 BBAGEBBIDGE HALL. 

upon it. By degrees the rubbisli wliicli lay upon tlie 
article lie liad hooked gave way ; he drew it to the sur- 
face of the water, and what was his rapture at seeing 
something like silver glittering at the end of his line ! 
Almost breathless with anxiety, he drew it up to the 
mouth of the well, surprised at its great weight, and fear- 
ing every instant that his hook would slip from its hold, 
and his prize tumble again to the bottom. At length he 
landed it safe beside the well. It was a great silver por- 
ringer, of an ancient form, richly embossed, and with 
armorial bearings engraved on its side, similar to those 
over his mother's mantelpiece. The lid was fastened 
down by several twists of wire ; Dolph loosened them 
with a trembling hand, and, on lifting the lid, behold ! 
the vessel was filled with broad golden pieces, of a coin- 
age which he had never seen before ! It was evident 
he had lit on the place where Killian Yander Spiegel had 
concealed his treasure. 

Fearful of being seen by some straggler, he cautiously 
retired, and buried his pot of money in a secret place. 
He now spread terrible stories about the haunted house, 
and deterred every one from approaching it, while he 
made frequent visits to it in stormy days, when no one 
was stirring in the neighboring fields ; though, to tell the 
truth, he did not care to venture there in the dark. For 
once in his life he was diligent and industrious, and fol- 
lowed up his new trade of angling with such perseverance 
and success, that in a little while he had hooked up 



DOLPH EETLIQEB. 539 

wealth enough to make him, in those moderate days, a 
rich burgher for life. 

It would be tedious to detail minutely the rest of this 
story. To tell how he gradually managed to bring his 
property into use without exciting surprise and inquiry, 
— how he satisfied all scruples with regard to retaining 
the property, and at the same time gratified his own 
feelings by marrying the pretty Marie Vander Heyden, — 
and how he and Heer Antony had many a merry and 
roving expedition together. 

I must not omit to say, however, that Dolph took his 
mother home to live with him, and cherished her in her 
old days. The good dame, too, had the satisfaction of 
no longer hearing her son made the theme of censure ; on 
the contrary, he grew daily in public esteem ; everybody 
spoke well of him and his wines ; and the lordliest bur- 
gomaster was never known to decline his invitation to 
dinner. Dolph often related, at his own table, the 
wicked pranks which had once been the abhorrence of 
the town ; but they were now considered excellent jokes, 
and the gravest dignitary was fain to hold his sides when 
listening to them. No one was more struck with Dolph's 
increasing merit than his old master the doctor ; and so 
forgiving was Dolph, that he absolutely employed the 
doctor as his family physician, only taking care that his 
prescriptions should be always thrown out of the win- 
dow. His mother had often her junto of old cronies to 
take a snug cup of tea with her in her comfortable little 



540 BRACEBRIDQE HALL. 

parlor ; and Peter de Groodt, as he sat by the fireside, 
with one of her grandchildren on his knee, would many a 
time congratulate her upon her son turning out so great 
a man ; upon which the good old soul would wag her 
head with exultation, and exclaim, " Ah, neighbor, neigh- 
bor ! did I not say that Dolph would one day or other 
hold up his head with the best of them ? " 

Thus did Dolph Heyliger go on, cheerily and prosper- 
ously, growing merrier as he grew older and wiser, and 
completely falsifying the old proverb about money got 
over the devil's back ; for he made good use of his 
wealth, and became a distinguished citizen, and a valu- 
able member of the community. He was a great promoter 
of public institutions, such as beef-steak societies and 
catch-clubs. He presided at all public dinners, and was 
the first that introduced turtle from the West Indies. 
He improved the breed of race-horses and game-cocks, 
and was so great a patron of modest merit, that any one 
who could sing a good song, or tell a good story, was sure 
to find a place at his table. 

He was a member, too, of the corporation, made several 
laws for the protection of game and oysters, and be- 
queathed to the board a large silver punch-bowl, made 
out of the identical porringer before mentioned, and 
which is in the possession of the corporation to this very 
day. 

Finally, he died, in a florid old age, of an apoplexy at 
a corporation feast, and was buried with great honors in 



DOLPE EETLIGEB. 541 

the yard of tlie little Dutch cliiircli in Garden Street, 
where his tombstone may still be seen with a modest 
epitaph in Dutch, by his friend Mynheer Justus Benson, 
an ancient and excellent poet of the province. 

The foregoing tale rests on better authority than most 
tales of the kind, as I have it at second-hand from the 
lips of Dolph Heyliger himself. He never related it till 
towards the latter part of his life, and then in great con- 
fidence, (for he was very discreet,) to a few of his par- 
ticular cronies at his own table, over a supernumerary 
bowl of punch ; and, strange as the hobgoblin parts of 
the story may seem, there never was a single doubt ex- 
pressed on the subject by any of his guests. It may not 
be amiss, before concluding, to observe that, in addition 
to his other accomplishments, Dolph Heyliger was noted 
for being the ablest drawer of the long-bow in the whole 
province. 




THE WEDDING. 

No more, no more, much honor aye betide 
The lofty bridegroom, and the lovely bride ; 
That all of their succeeding days may say, 
Each day appears like to a wedding day. 

Braithwaite. 

OTWITHSTANDING tlie doubts and the de- 
murs of Lady Lillycraft, and all the grave 
objections conjured up against the month of 
May, the wedding has at length happily taken place. It 
was celebrated at the village church, in presence of a 
numerous company of relatives and friends, and many of 
the tenantry. The Squire must needs have something of 
the old ceremonies observed on the occasion ; so, at the 
gate of the church-yard, several little girls of the village, 
dressed in white, were in readiness with baskets of 
flowers, which they strewed before the bride ; and the 
butler bore before her the bride-cup, a great silver em- 
bossed bowl, one of the family relics from the days of 
the hard drinkers. This was filled with rich wine, and 
decorated with a branch of rosemary, tied with gay rib- 
bons, according to ancient custom. 

" Happy is the bride that the sun shines on," says the 

542 



THE WEDDING. 543 

old proverb ; and it was as sunny and auspicious a morn- 
ing as heart could wish. The bride looked uncommonly 
beautiful ; but, in fact, what woman does not look inter- 
esting on her wedding-day ? I know no sight more 
charming and touching than that of a young and timid 
bride, in her robes of virgin white, led up trembling to 
the altar. When I thus behold a lovely girl, in the ten- 
derness of her years, forsaking the house of her fathers, 
and the home of her childhood ; and with the implicit 
confiding, and the sweet self-abandonment, which belong 
to woman, giving up all the world for the man of her 
choice : when I hear her, in the good old language of the 
ritual, yielding herself to him, " for better for worse, for 
richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, 
honor, and obey, till death us do part," it brings to my 
mind the beautiful and affecting self-devotion of Euth: 
" "Whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I 
will lodge ; thy people shall be my people, and thy God 
my God." 

The fair Julia was supported on the trying occasion by 
Lady Lillycraft, whose heart was overflowing with its 
wonted sympathy in all matters of love and matrimony. 
As the bride approached the altar, her face would be one 
moment covered with blushes, and the next deadly pale ; 
and she seemed almost ready to shrink from sight among 
her female companions. 

I do not know what it is that makes every one serious, 
and, as it were, awe-struck, at a marriage ceremony; 



544 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

•whicli is generally considered an occasion of festivity and 
rejoicing. As the ceremony was performing, I observed 
many a rosy face among tlie country-girls turn pale, and 
I did not see a smile throughout the church. The young 
ladies from the Hall were almost as much frightened as 
if it had been their own case, and stole many a look of 
sympathy at their trembling companion. A tear stood in 
the eye of the sensitive Lady Lillycraft ; and as to Phoebe 
"Wilkins, who was present, she absolutely wept and 
sobbed aloud ; but it is hard to tell, half the time, what 
these fond foolish creatures are crying about. 

The captain, too, though naturally gay and uncon- 
cerned, was much agitated on the occasion ; and, in at- 
tempting to put the ring upon the bride's finger, dropped 
it on the floor ; which Lady Lillycraft has since assured 
me is a very lucky omen. Even Master Simon had lost 
his usual vivacity, and assumed a most whimsically 
solemn face, which he is apt to do on all occasions of 
ceremony. He had much whispering with the parson 
and parish-clerk, for he is always a busy personage in 
the scene, and he echoed the clerk's amen with a solem- 
nity and devotion that edified the whole assemblage. 

The moment, however, that the ceremony was over, 
the transition was magical. The bride-cup was passed 
round, according to ancient usage, for the company to 
drink to a happy union ; every one's feelings seemed to 
break forth from restraint. Master Simon had a world 
of bachelor pleasantries to utter, and as to the gallant 



TEE WEBBING. 545 

general, lie bowed and cooed about the dulcet Lady Lilly- 
craft like a mighty cock-pigeon about his dame. 

The villagers gathered in the church-yard to cheer the 
happy couple as they left the church ; and the musical 
tailor had marshalled his band, and set up a hideous dis- 
cord, as the blushing and smiling bride passed through a 
lane of honest peasantry to her carriage. The children 
shouted and threw up their hats ; the bells rang a merry 
peal that set all the crows and rooks flying and cawing 
about the air, and threatened to bring down the battle- 
ments of the old tower ; and there was a continual pop- 
ping off of rusty firelocks from every part of the neigh- 
borhood. 

The prodigal son distinguished himself on the oc- 
casion, having hoisted a flag on the top of the school- 
house, and kept the village in a hubbub from sunrise, 
with the sound of drum and fife and pandean pipe; in 
which species of music several of his scholars are making 
wonderful proficiency. In his great zeal, however, he 
had nearly done mischief ; for on returning from church, 
the horses of the bride's carriage took fright from the 
discharge of a row of old gun-barrels, which he had 
mounted as a park of artillery in front of the school- 
house to give the captain a military salute as he passed. 

The day passed off with great rustic rejoicing. Tables 
were spread under the trees in the park, where all the 
peasantry of the neighborhood were regaled with roast- 
beef and plum-pudding, and oceans of ale. Eeady- 
35 



546 BBAGEBBIDQE HALL. 

Money Jack presided at one of the tables, and became 
so full of good cbeer as to unbend from his usual gravity, 
to sing a song out of all tune, and give two or three 
shouts of laughter that almost electrified his neighbors 
like so many peals of thunder. The schoolmaster and 
the apothecary vied with each other in making speeches 
over their liquor; and there were occasional glees and 
musical performances by the village band, that must 
have frightened every faun and dryad from the park. 
Even old Christy, who had got on a new dress from top 
to toe, and shone in all the splendor of bright leather- 
breeches, and an enormous wedding favor in his cap, for- 
got his usual crustiness, became inspired by wine and 
wassail, and absolutely danced a hornpipe on one of the 
tables, with all the grace and agility of a mannikin hung 
upon wires. 

Equal gayety reigned within doors, where a large party 
of friends were entertained. Every one laughed at his 
own pleasantry, without attending to that of his neigh- 
bor's. Loads of bride-cake were distributed. The young 
ladies were all busy in passing morsels of it through the 
wedding-ring to dream on, and I myself assisted a little 
boarding-school girl in putting up a quantity for her 
companions, which I have no doubt will set all the little 
heads in the school gadding, for a week at least. 

After dinner all the company, great and small, gentle 
and simple, abandoned themselves to the dance : not the 
modern quadrille, with its graceful gravity, but the 



THE WEDDING. 547 

merry, social, old country-dance ; the true dance, as the 
Squire says, for a wedding occasion, as it sets all the 
world jigging in couples, hand in hand, and makes every 
eye and every heart dance merrily to the music. Accord- 
ing to frank old usage, the gentlefolks of the Hall 
mingled for a time in the dance of the peasantry, who 
had a great tent erected for a ball-room ; and I think I 
never saw Master Simon more in his element than when 
figuring about among his rustic admirers as master of the 
ceremonies ; and, with a mingled air of protection and 
gallantry, leading out the quondam Queen of May, all 
blushing at the signal honor conferred upon her. 

In the evening the whole village was illuminated, ex- 
cepting the house of the radical, who had not shown his 
face during the rejoicings. There was a display of fire- 
works at the school-house, got up by the prodigal son, 
which had well-nigh set fire to the building. The Squire 
is so much pleased with the extraordinary services of 
this last-mentioned worthy, that he talks of enrolling him 
in his list of valuable retainers, and promoting him to 
some important post on the estate ; peradventure to be 
falconer, if the hawks can ever be brought into proper 
training. 

There is a well-known old proverb, which says " one 
wedding makes many," — or something to the same pur- 
pose ; and I should not be surprised if it holds good 
in the present instance. I have seen several flirtations 
among the young people brought together on this occa- 



548 BBACEBRIDGE HALL. 

sion ; and a great deal of strolling about in pairs, among 
tlie retired walks and blossoming shrubberies of the old 
garden : and if groves were really given to whispering, as 
poets would fain make us believe. Heaven knows what 
love-tales the grave-looking old trees about this venera- 
ble country-seat might blab to the world. 

The general, too, has waxed very zealous in his devo- 
tions within the past few days, as the time of her lady- 
ship's departure approaches. I observed him casting 
many a tender look at her during the wedding dinner, 
while the courses were changing ; though he was always 
liable to be interrupted in his adoration by the appear- 
ance of any new delicacy. The general, in fact, has ar- 
rived at that time of life when the heart and the stomach 
maintain a kind of balance of power, and when a man is 
apt to be perplexed in his affections between a fine 
woman and a truffled turkey. Her ladyship was cer- 
tainly rivalled through the whole of the first course by 
a dish of stewed carp ; and there was one glance, which 
was evidently intended to be a point-black shot at her 
heart, and could scarcely have failed to effect a practica- 
ble breach, had it not unluckily been directed away to a 
tempting breast of lamb, in which it immediately pro- 
duced a formidable incision. 

Thus did this faithless general go on, coquetting dur- 
ing the whole dinner, and committing an infidelity with 
every new dish ; until, in the end, he was so overpowered 
by the attentions he had paid to fish, flesh, and fowl, to 



THE WEDDING. 549 

pastry, jelly, cream, and blanc-mange, that he seemed to 
sink within himself ; his eyes swam beneath their lids, 
and their fire was so much slackened that he could no 
longer discharge a single glance that would reach across 
the table. Upon the whole, I fear the general ate him- 
self into as much disgrace, at this memorable dinner, as 
I have seen him sleep himself into on a former occasion. 

I am told, moreover, that young Jack Tibbets was so 
touched by the wedding ceremony, at which he was 
present, and so captivated by the sensibility of poor 
Phoebe Wilkins, who certainly looked all the better for 
her tears, that he had a reconciliation with her that very 
day after dinner, in one of the groves of the park, and 
danced with her in the evening; to the complete con- 
fusion of old Dame Tibbets's domestic politics. I met 
them walking together in the park, shortly after the 
reconciliation must have taken place. Young Jack car- 
ried himself gayly and manfully ; but Phoebe hung her 
head, blushing, as I approached. However, just as she 
passed me and dropped a courtesy, I caught a shy 
gleam of her eye from under her bonnet ; but it was im- 
mediately cast down again. I saw enough in that single 
gleam, and in an involuntary smile dimpling about her 
rosy lips, to feel satisfied that the little gypsy's heart 
was happy again. 

What is more. Lady Lillycraft, with her usual benevo- 
lence and zeal in all matters of this tender nature, on 
hearing of the reconciliation of the lovers, undertook the 



650 BRACEBRIDOE HALL. 

critical task of breaking tlie matter to Keady-Money 
Jack. Slie thought there was no time like the present, 
and attacked the sturdy old yeoman that very evening in 
the park, while his heart was yet lifted up with the 
Squire's good cheer. Jack was a little surprised at being 
drawn aside by her ladyship, but was not to be flurried by 
such an honor : he was still more surprised by the nature 
of her communication, and by this first intelligence of an 
affair that had been passing under his eye. He listened, 
however, with his usual gravity, as her ladyship repre- 
sented the advantages of the match, the good qualities of 
the girl, and the distress which she had lately suffered : 
at length his eye began to kindle, and his hand to play 
with the head of his cudgel. Lady Lillycraft saw that 
something in the narrative had gone wrong, and has- 
tened to mollify his rising ire by reiterating the soft- 
hearted Phoebe's merit and fidelity, and her great un- 
happiness ; when old Keady-Money suddenly interrupted 
her by exclaiming, that, if Jack did not marry the wench, 
he'd break every bone in his body ! The match, there- 
fore, is considered a settled thing ; Dame Tibbets and 
the housekeeper have made friends, and drunk tea to- 
gether ; and Phoebe has again recovered her good looks 
and good spirits, and is carolling from morning till 
night like a lark. 

But the most whimsical caprice of Cupid is one that 
I should be almost afraid to mention, did I not know 
that I was writing for readers well experienced in the 



THE WEDDING. 551 

•waywardness of this most miscliievous deity. The 
morning after the wedding, therefore, while Lady Lil- 
lycraft was making preparations for her departure, an 
audience was requested by her immaculate handmaid, 
Mrs. Hannah, who, with much primming of the mouth, 
and many maidenly hesitations, requested leave to stay 
behind, and that Lady Lillycraft would supply her place 
with some other servant. Her ladyship was astonished ; 
" What ! Hannah going to quit her, that had lived with 
her so long ! " 

" Why, one could not help it ; one must settle in life 
some time or other." 

The good lady was still lost in amazement ; at length 
the secret was gasped from the dry lips of the maiden 
gentlewoman : " She had been some time thinking of 
changing her condition, and at length had given her 
word, last evening, to Mr. Christy, the huntsman." 

How, or when, or where this singular courtship had 
been carried on, I have not been able to learn ; nor how 
she has been able, with the vinegar of her disposition, to 
soften the stony heart of old Nimrod ; so, however, it is, 
and it has astonished every one. With all her ladyship's 
love of match-making, this last fume of Hymen's torch 
has been too much for her. She has endeavored to rea- 
son with Mrs. Hannah, but all in vain ; her mind was 
made up, and she grew tart on the least contradiction. 
Lady Lillycraft applied to the Squire for his interference. 
"She did not know what she should do without Mrs. 



552 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

Hannali, slie liad been used to liave her about her so 
long a time." 

The Squire, on the contrary, rejoiced in the match, as 
relieving the good lady from a kind of toilet-tyrant, under 
whose sway she had suffered for years. Instead of 
thwarting the affair, therefore, he has given it his full 
countenance ; and declares that he will set up the young 
couple in one of the best cottages on his estate. The 
approbation of the Squire has been followed by that of 
the whole household ; they all declare, that, if ever 
matches are ready made in heaven, this must have been, 
for that old Christy and Mrs. Hannah were as evidently 
formed to be linked together as ever were pepper-box 
and vinegar-cruet. 

As soon as this matter was arranged. Lady Lillycraft 
took her leave of the family at the Hall ; taking with her 
the captain and his blushing bride, who are to pass the 
honeymoon with her. Master Simon accompanied them 
on horseback, and indeed means to ride on ahead to 
make preparations. The general, who was fishing in vain 
for an invitation to her seat, handed her ladyship into 
her carriage with a heavy sigh ; upon which his bosom- 
friend. Master Simon, who was just mounting his horse, 
gave me a knowing wink, made an abominably wry face, 
and leaning from his saddle, whispered loudly in my ear, 
"It won't do!" Then putting spurs to his horse, away 
he cantered off. The general stood for some time waving 
his hat after the carriage as it rolled down the avenue, 



THE WEDDING. 553 

until lie was seized with a fit of sneezing, from exposing 
his head to the cold breeze. I observed that he returned 
rather thoughtfully to the house ; whistling softly to him- 
self, with his hands behind his back, and an exceedingly 
dubious air. 

The company have now almost all taken their depart- 
ure ; I have determined to do the same to-morrow morn- 
ing ; and I hope my reader may not think that I have 
already lingered too long at the Hall. I have been 
tempted to do so, however, because I thought I had lit 
upon one of the retired places where there are yet some 
traces to be met with of old English character. A little 
while hence, and all these will probably have passed 
away. Ready-Money Jack will sleep with his fathers; 
the good Squire, and all his peculiarities, will be buried 
in the neighboring church. The old Hall will be mod- 
ernized into a fashionable country-seat, or, peradventure, 
a manufactory. The park will be cut up into petty farms 
and kitchen-gardens. A daily coach will run through the 
village ; it will become, like all other commonplace vil- 
lages, thronged with coachmen, post-boys, tipplers, and 
politicians ; and Christmas, May-day, and all the other 
hearty merry-makings of the " good old times," will be 
forgotten. 



.THE AUTHOK'S FAREWELL 

And so, without more circumstance at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part. 

Hamlet. 



AYING taken leave of tlie Hall and its inmates, 
and brought tlie history of my visit to some- 
thing like a close, there seems to remain noth- 



ing further than to make my bow, and exit. It is my 
foible, however, to get on such companionable terms with 
my reader in the course of a work, that it really costs me 
some pain to part with him, and I am apt to keep him 
by the hand, and have a few farewell words at the end of 
my last volume. 

When I cast an eye back upon the work I am just con- 
cluding, I cannot but be sensible how full it must be of 
errors and imperfections ; indeed, how should it be other- 
wise, writing, as I do, about subjects and scenes with 
which, as a stranger, I am but partially acquainted? 
Many will, doubtless, find cause to smile at very obvious 
blunders which I may have made ; and many may, per- 
haps, be offended at what they may conceive prejudiced 
representations. Some will think I might have said 

much more on such subjects as may suit their peculiar 

554 



THE AUTHOB'S FAREWELL. 555 

tastes ; whilst others will think I had done wiser to have 
left those subjects entirely alone. 

It will probably be said, too, by some, that I view Eng- 
land with a partial eye. Perhaps I do ; for I can never 
forget that it is my " fatherland." And yet the circum- 
stances under which I have viewed it have by no means 
been such as were calculated to produce favorable im- 
pressions. For the greater part of the time that I have 
resided in it, I have lived almost unknowing and un- 
known ; seeking no favors and receiving none ; — " a stran- 
ger and a sojourner in the land," and subject to all the 
chills and neglects that are the common lot of the 
stranger. 

When I consider these circumstances, and recollect 
how often I have taken up my pen, with a mind ill at 
ease, and spirits much dejected and cast down, I cannot 
but think I was not likely to err on the favorable side of 
the picture. The opinions I have given of English char- 
acter have been the result of much quiet, dispassion- 
ate, and varied observation. It is a character not to be 
hastily studied, for it always puts on a repulsive and 
ungracious aspect to a stranger. Let those, then, who 
condemn my representations as too favorable, observe 
this people as closely and deliberately as I have done, 
and they will, probably, change their opinion. Of one 
thing, at any rate, I am certain, that I have spoken hon- 
estly and sincerely, from the convictions of my mind and 
the dictates of my heart. When I first published my 



556 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

former writings, it was with no hope of gaining favor in 
English eyes, for I little thought they were to become 
current out of my own country ; and had I merely sought 
popularity among my own countrymen, I should have 
taken a more direct and obvious way, by gratifying rather 
than rebuking the angry feelings then prevalent against 
England. 

And here let me acknowledge my warm, my thankful 
feelings, at the effect produced by one of my trivial lucu- 
brations. I allude to the essay in the " Sketch-Book," 
on the subject of the literary feuds between England and 
America. I cannot express the heartfelt delight I have 
experienced at the unexpected sympathy and approba- 
tion with which those remarks have been received on 
both sides of the Atlantic. I speak this not from any 
paltry feelings of gratified vanity, for I attribute the effect 
to no merit of my pen. The paper in question was brief 
and casual, and the ideas it conveyed were simple and 
obvious. " It was the cause ; it was the cause " alone. 
There was a predisposition on the part of my readers 
to be favorably affected. My countrymen responded in 
heart to the filial feelings I had avowed in their name 
towards the parent country ; and there was a generous 
sympathy in every English bosom towards a solitary in- 
dividual, lifting up his voice in a strange land, to vindi- 
cate the injured character of his nation. There are some 
causes so sacred as to carry with them an irresistible 
appeal to every virtuous bosom ; and he needs but little 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 557 

power of eloquence, wlio defends tlie honor of his wife, 
his mother, or his country. 

I hail, therefore, the success of that brief paper as 
showing how much good may be done by a kind word, 
however feeble, when spoken in season, — as showing how 
much dormant good feeling actually exists in each coun- 
try, towards the other, which only wants the slightest 
spark to kindle it into a genial flame, — as showing, in 
fact, what I have all along believed and asserted, that 
the two nations would grow together in esteem and 
amity, if meddling and malignant spirits would but 
throw by their mischievous pens, and leave kindred 
hearts to the kindly impulses of nature. 

I once more assert, and I assert it with increased con- 
viction of its truth, that there exists among the great ma- 
jority of my countrymen a favorable feeling toward Eng- 
land. I repeat this assertion, because I think it a truth 
that cannot too often be reiterated, and because it has 
met with some contradiction. Among all the liberal and 
enlightened minds of my countrymen, among all those 
which eventually give a tone to national opinion, there ex- 
ists a cordial desire to be on terms of courtesy and friend- 
ship. But at the same time there exists in those very 
minds a distrust of reciprocal good-will on the part of Eng- 
land. They have been rendered morbidly sensitive by the 
attacks made upon their country by the English press ; 
and their occasional irritability on this subject has been 
misinterpreted into a settled and unnatural hostility. 



558 BBACEBBIDGE HALL. 

For my part, I consider this jealous sensibility as be- 
longing to generous natures. I should look upon my 
countrymen as fallen indeed from tliat independence of 
spirit wliicli is their birth-gift, as fallen indeed from that 
pride of character which they inherit from the proud 
nation from which they sprung, could they tamely sit 
down under the infliction of contumely and insult. In- 
deed, the very impatience which they show as to the mis- 
representations of the press, proves their respect for 
English opinion, and their desire for English amity; 
for there is never jealousy where there is not strong 
regard. 

It is easy to say, that these attacks are all the effusions 
of worthless scribblers, and treated with silent contempt 
by the nation ; but, alas ! the slanders of the scribbler 
travel abroad, and the silent contempt of the nation is 
only known at home. With England, then, it remains, 
as I have formerly asserted, to promote a mutual spirit 
of conciliation ; she has but to hold the language of 
friendship and respect, and she is secure of the good-will 
of every American bosom. 

In expressing these sentiments, I would utter nothing 
that should commit the proper spirit of my countrymen. 
"We seek no boon at England's hands : we ask nothing as 
a favor. Her friendship is not necessary, nor would her 
hostility be dangerous to our well-being. We ask noth- 
ing from abroad that we cannot reciprocate. But with 
respect to England, we have a warm feeling of the heart, 



THE A UTEOR '8 FAREWELL. 559 

tte glow of consanguinity tliat still lingers in our blood. 
Interest apart — past differences forgotten — we extend the 
hand of old relationship. We merely ask, do not es- 
trange us from you; do not destroy the ancient tie of 
blood ; do not let scoffers and slanderers drive a kindred 
nation from your side : we would fain be friends ; do not 
compel us to be enemies. 

There needs no better rallying ground for interna- 
tional amity than that furnished by an eminent English 
writer. " There is," says he, " a sacred bond between us 
of blood and of language, which no circumstances can 
break. Our literature must always be theirs ; and 
though their laws are no longer the same as ours, we 
have the same Bible, and we address our common Father 
in the same prayer. Nations are too ready to admit that 
they have natural enemies ; why should they be less 
willing to believe that they have natural friends ? " * 

To the magnanimous spirits of both countries must we 
trust to carry such a natural alliance of affection into full 
effect. To pens more powerful than mine I leave the 
noble task of promoting the cause of national amity. To 
the intelligent and enlightened of my own country I 
address my parting voice, entreating them to show them- 
selves superior to the petty attacks of the ignorant and 
the worthless, and still to look with dispassionate and 

* From an article (said to be by Robert Southey, Esq.) published in 
the Quarterly Revieiv. It is to be lamented that that publication should 
so often forget the generous text here given. 



560 BBACEBBIDOE HALL. 

philosopliic eye to the moral character of England, as 
tlie intellectual source of our rising greatness ; while I 
appeal to every generous-minded Englishman from the 
slanders which disgrace the press, insult the understand- 
ing, and belie the magnanimity of his country ; and I 
invite him to look to America as to a kindred nation 
worthy of its origin ; giving, in the healthy vigor of its 
growth, the best of comments on its parent stock ; and 
reflecting, in the dawning brightness of its fame, the 
moral effulgence of British glory. 

I am sure that such an appeal will not be made in 
vain. Indeed, I have noticed, for some time past, an 
essential change in English sentiment with regard to 
America. In parliament, that fountain-head of public 
opinion, there seems to be an emulation, on both sides 
of the house, in holding the language of courtesy and 
friendship. The same spirit is daily becoming more and 
more prevalent in good society. There is a growing 
curiosity concerning my country; a craving desire for 
correct information, that cannot fail to lead to a favor- 
able understanding. The scoffer, I trust, has had his 
day; the time of the slanderer is gone by; the ribald 
jokes, the stale commonplaces, which have so long 
passed current when America was the theme, are now 
banished to the ignorant and the vulgar, or only per- 
petuated by the hireling scribblers and traditional jest- 
ers of the press. The intelligent and high-minded now 
pride themselves- upon making America their study. 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 561 

But however my feelings may be understood or recip- 
rocated on either side of the Atlantic, I utter them 
without reserve, for I have ever found that to speak 
frankly is to speak safely. I am not so sanguine as to 
believe that the two nations are ever to be bound to- 
gether by any romantic ties of feeling ; but I believe that 
much may be done by keeping alive cordial sentiments, 
were every well-disposed mind occasionally to throw in a 
simple word of kindness. If I have, indeed, produced 
any such effect by my writings, it will be a soothing re- 
flection to me, that for once, in the course of a rather 
negligent life, I have been useful ; that for once, by the 
casual exercise of a pen which has been in general but 
too unprofitably employed, I have awakened a chord of 
sympathy between the land of my fathers and the dear 
land which gave me birth. 

In the spirit of these sentiments I now take my fare- 
well of the paternal soil. With anxious eye do I behold 
the clouds of doubt and difficulty that lower over it, and 
earnestly do I hope they may all clear up into serene 
and settled sunshine. In bidding this last adieu, my 
heart is filled with fond, yet melancholy emotions ; and 
still I linger, and still, like a child leaving the venerable 
abodes of his forefathers, I turn to breathe forth a filial 
benediction: "Peace be within thy walls, oh England! 
and plenteousness within thy palaces ; for my brethren 
and my companions' sake I will now say, Peace be within 
thee ! " 

36 



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